


Fate/Stay Star Wars

by Ma_Kir



Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fate/ Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Crossover, Fifth Holy Grail War, Gen, Lothal, World Between Worlds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:32:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ma_Kir/pseuds/Ma_Kir
Summary: Long, long ago in a galaxy, far, far away seven adepts and seven spirits of myth and legend fight to access the ancient power known as the World Between Worlds: each for their goals, each for their own agenda.Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, and other sentient beings to the Fifth War Between Worlds, the sequel to the experimental miniseries Star Wars: Fate/Zero.





	1. Chapter 1

Saber dreams. But she isn't sleeping. And the dreams are not her own.

She sees a massive fire, the crackling power of the Dark Side raging uncontrolled, and exultant in its own -- brief - freedom in this small settlement. It isn't like the Cave under Ahch-To, showing her all the gradations of who is, who she was, and who she will be: all of them shifting frames of very eternal present. It isn't the gloating focused blackness of the Supreme Leader that held her in his clutches on his ship so many aeons ago, or even the conflicting elemental energies of the combustion engine that was his ... apprentice: the person she could have easily been. It is completely out of control, burning everyone, screaming through the Force. 

And somehow she knows it is at least partially her former Master's fault. She had been worn down by her battle with Berserker, with ... the tired, sad expression on his face, his exhausted dark brown eyes without their intensity, as he fell once again. Even if that hadn't been the case, Caster had all but contained her: cackling, his grandfatherly face warped and twisted into pure malice and glowing yellow eyes as he tried to corrupt her to the Dark Side of the Force: to make her his new Apprentice. For all of Berserker's raw power, he was but a callow youth compared to this pure and grandiose scope of evil centered in one entity. He had used Berserker. He had used everyone ... 

But then her Master came out, and sent the mental compulsion through their bond -- the one that bound Force Adept and Legendary Spirit -- and had her destroy the portal. She had almost forgotten she had that much power within her. Even Caster had been unprepared. She didn't want to. She wanted time. She wanted to overcome Caster, and then with her Master's aid examine the portal to the World Between Worlds. She didn't know what she wanted with it, if she could repair her mistakes, to find someone else -- to train someone worthier and more prepared -- to restore the Jedi and save the galaxy, if she even wanted to ... But they just needed time. She had barely had any training when she lived, and had to learn from ancient crumbling texts, sporadic Force spirits, and the example of the man who sacrificed his very being reignite hope again in the Galaxy. Obviously, the galaxy had not done as well as she had hoped after she was gone with the loss of the Jedi, the disintegration of any unified galactic government, and the creation of the different Clans of Force Adepts and their conflicts. They needed time. They needed to know exactly what they were dealing with. They needed to do right by the galaxy, and all the innocents within it.

But Emiya Kiritsugu gave her the command, drawing on the alchemical bond of the portal that actualized her physically -- in the present  ... And she flickered, like a bad hologram, resisting, not knowing what would happen if she used the raw power inside of her -- a twin for her lost foe's -- on the unstable, rudimentary portal.

And now she knows what happened after she faded away once again.

Even so, she didn't pass on into the Netherworld of the Force. She held on. She knew she had to stay to correct her mistakes. To correct the legacy she attempted to leave behind so long ago, that ultimately meant nothing as the Jedi ceased to be again, and the galaxy disintegrated into an anarchy more turbulent than that on Jakku. To correct the similar mistake that her instructor spent so much time tormenting himself over on Ahch-To: the very thing that he had warned her against so long ago. To correct the mistakes of the man who used her as a tool, who saw her as little more than a naive, ignorant, girl that had no idea what she was doing. And perhaps, to an extent, he had been right. There was a time she knew little more than the Adept Slayer himself did. But so many people had suffered. Irisviel, who had been the organic conduit to resurrect the portal to the World Between Worlds, used by her own Family and sacrificed for nothing, Maiya -- Kiritsugu's assistant and partner -- who died, and the poor child -- Illya -- like so many Awakened Force-sensitives in her time, lost and afraid, left to the devices of beings like the Knights of Ren, like Irisviel's cruel Clan.

And this boy.

The boy is scourged by the fire. She feels his sense of self burned away piece by piece. Layer by layer. His community. His friends. His family. His life. Even his surname. He barely had a name left, just a scrap of fire lit only by a basic need to survive. 

She can feel his ego vanish, in that early formative time. It is only his need to survive ... and the Force itself. 

The rest is a blur of fragments. She sees her former Master, broken, his eyes filled with despair lit up with a desperate joy as he finds the boy. She sees the boy floating in a bacta tank in the best medical facilities on Lothal that credits can buy. Even so, she sees the boy fitted with prosthetics: replacing his lost arms below the elbows, and his legs below his knees. Even so, there is an eerie form of peace in his eyes -- a serenity -- when he looks up at Kiritsugu saving him that first time so many years ago.

 _"The crystal is the heart of the blade."_ She hears the boy say, no ... a man say in her mind as she sees a tall figure facing away from her, with white hair, garbed in a tattered desert cloak, conjuring a lightsaber hilt into his pitted, dented, metallic hands. The blade ignites into a familiar azure blade. _"Yet these hands will never hold anything ... real ..."_

The blade vanishes from the man's hands as she awakens from her meditation.

Saber knows she is no longer in the Fourth War Between Worlds. She isn't even in the place that happened right after its brutal end. It's the Fifth War Between Worlds now. Seven Adepts, and Seven Legendary Spirits have come together -- the latter given form by the alchemical construct made by Three Adept Clans like rudimentary, interactive techno-organic holograms ... Holocron images, she remembers -- to win the right to control a proper portal, to create a new Gateway to the World Between Worlds: a midnight place of winding roads in the darkness that would allow the users to see, and even change time itself. 

Emiya Shirou sleeps in his room behind her as she guards him. Her new Master. She can still barely sense their connection through the Ritual. The young man is a puzzle to Saber. He isn't as ruthless as the man that adopted him, who seemed to have gained some kind of redemption towards the end of his life. She remembers seeing the boy, fleeing Lancer, almost killed before the catalyst of the kyber crystal around his neck -- from her Jedi instructor's lightsaber -- summoned her when she came to the tiny Force nexus, a trickle of convergent energy in the earth, that was his Workshop. She recalls the disappointment of Kiritsugu as he realized he hadn't summoned Luke Skywalker with that ruined lightsaber hilt, but Emiya Shirou himself had only treated her with kindness, and respect. Even awe. He didn't ... really know who she was. And it is just as well. She is nobody, just like parents were, as she kept telling herself so many years ago ... She was just her actions. Just what she made herself to be. 

Shirou's red hair is streaked with grey from the trauma of the Fire. She saw the scars on his body, the place where is flesh ended, and his artificial limbs began. But that is not what concerns her. The Resistance, and the Rebellion before it, had people in its ranks that suffered worse physically. Even Luke Skywalker's father had gone through something even more horrific ... But not just physically.

Saber doesn't sense the Dark Side in Shirou at all. There is no seething resentment, or gnawing bitterness. There is no cold core of determination, like that in his adoptive father who used her. There is definitely no malice at all in the young man, and what anger she senses in him has to be brought out with real effort, and it is self-righteous, principled, and only when others are threatened ...

When she asked him what he wanted in this War, which he had no knowledge, she expected to hear him say he wanted to be a Jedi Knight: trained in their ways long lost even after her time, despite all of her effort to restructure and relearn everything they thought they knew: that she thought she knew. But all Shirou mentioned was how he wanted to be a Hero of Justice. It took her a while to realize what this meant. She never really had access to the HoloNet in her youth, millennia ago now, but she could figure out what this meant. She had heard stories of heroes that sacrificed everything to save the lives of others ... 

 _"That's how we're gonna win: not fighting what we hate ..."_ She recalls her long lost friend telling her, quoting from someone he had grown to care deeply for himself. _"Saving what we love ..."_

But Saber knows better. She knows if there is any hate in Shirou, it is for himself. It is survivor's guilt: for doing what he had to in order to live. And at such a young age. She had tried telling him there was nothing he could do, then. She thought about telling him it had been her fault, but she can't, because if she does she has to tell him about his father, and she just ... can't find it in her to do so.

So she takes her irritation out on him in other ways, especially when she discovers his Force techniques. It horrifies her. Not his penchant at mind tricks, or suggestion. Those are useful skills in and of themselves. She is actually impressed. For the most part, Emiya Shirou has no major power in the Force: nothing physically tangible. He can influence those who are not strong-willed or prepared. Indeed, he had managed to influence even Lancer for a little bit, which allowed him to escape with his life, before the Legendary Spirit thought better of it. 

But Shirou has no telekinesis. His farsight is limited just to his reflexes, which she can work with. She knows, with time, he can improve his body and miniaturize his mechanical parts and other equipment with the Force -- reinforcing them. He even seems to have a knack for reading what a tool or weapon is for ... with even some impressions of how its last user utilized it, but that is about it, and they do not have the time in this War to expand on all of these skills. What astonishes her is how he is able to conjure the images of objects, even fooling her into thinking he made them from thin air. It's as though he's able to fool others, and himself into thinking that they exist at all. Of course, with greater focus -- like those possessed by more experienced Force Adepts and Legendary Spirits -- those images would fade almost immediately at this level. And this same quality also made his mind vulnerable to outside suggestion: as his psychic walls and boundaries seemed almost non-existent. 

Something about them nagged at him until, one day, he managed to project an image of himself into the battlefield. Saber had a long talk with Shirou after that, especially when he continued using that to distract her opponents. It was her job to _protect_ him. And she had witnessed, first-hand ... and sensed the price of using that particular technique. Her own would-be Master -- her teacher -- died utilizing it at long range, and he had been the last of his kind at the time: the paragon of what a Jedi could be. Shirou is barely a man, and taking terrible risks. She all but slapped it into his head that using this power too often, and at interplanetary range could burn himself out from that scrap of being that survived the Fourth War. 

That Emiya Shirou could literally kill himself.

She is amazed he can even do this at all, given his barely moderate talent in the area of the Force. But it makes sense. He was exposed to the fire caused by an unstable vergence in the Force, that its Dark Side energy -- on a Force nexus where they fought -- influenced his formative mind and ego. It all but erased it. Shirou doesn't believe he is an actual person anymore, if he ever did. Perhaps, at times, even reality doesn't seem real anymore. Saber recalls the lesson of your focus determining your reality. If Shirou believes he isn't real, and that others are, perhaps that is how he can create those illusionary objects so easily: believing in something more real than himself.

Saber believes she and ... Tohsaka Rin can work with this, even with the latter's emphasis on midichlorian counts determining the power and worth of an Adept. Certainly, she can help with Shirou's blade work without too much danger. One doesn't have to be absolutely powerful in the Force to become a decent duelist. The rest will take nuance, and trust. And despite all this, she does trust her new Master. His only goal is to make sure no one else misuses the World Between Worlds: perhaps making sure that no one does, least of all of evil affinity.

Saber does have something to work with, with her new Master. And their alliance with the last scion of the Tohsaka Clan could help. At least they can deal with the struggle honourably, given how Rin only seems to want to win the War to secure the portal for the honour of her Family: and nothing else. Perhaps, if she can't go back in time and find ... someone else to save the galaxy, she has another chance. This is Saber's chance to train another Apprentice, to show them that they have worth beyond sacrificing themselves like her friend tried to do on Crait so long ago ... And the future is always in motion. Saber recalls her vision. With her guidance, Emiya Shirou might not ever hold anything that is real, but with the Force he might be able to hold everything ... that matters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to make this sequel to Star Wars: Fate/Zero. Ironically, I had the idea for this story before SW: Fate/Zero, and before the Sequel Trilogy itself, and the creation of Legends continuity. This first part was definitely a challenge. I mean, Shirou in one timeline becomes a Servant, but he would basically be an original character as a Legendary Spirit in this Fusion Universe I created. Getting him a Saber-Class Legendary Spirit -- even in the new Star Wars canon -- was not difficult.
> 
> But determining his own Force abilities, was definitely hard.
> 
> But then I saw The Last Jedi. And I looked at Shirou's sense of self. I also realized his Servant wouldn't have a healing catalyst like Avalon. So I improvised. And what I came up with felt so utterly fun that I ran with it.
> 
> Ironically, the Star Wars Legendary Spirits, and Fate/Stay Night Masters pairings after these two will be more challenging to consider ... save for one and two of them. I hope that you will enjoy watching this process unfold. I just wanted to try something new and weird again, to keep my mind flexible.
> 
> Anyway, Happy Canada Day to those who celebrate it.
> 
> This is where the fun begins.


	2. Chapter 2

Archer has to admit that it's useful having a jet pack.

He knows, as his memories begin to gradually return, that he _made_ this device back in his own life. He feels his Master under one arm as they traverse the night sky of Lothal, leaving the Tohsaka Clan Compound to find other enemy Spirits and their own Masters. 

Suffice to say, Tohsaka Rin karked up. And she karked up spectacularly.

Apparently, for the War Between Worlds, she had to prove herself to her dead father: who left for her a catalyst to summon a fairly powerful Spirit ... possibly even one that Tohsaka Tokiomi used in the last War. Unfortunately, the system was time-sensitive, and by the time Rin had used her telekinesis to open the lock, she had been one hour late. The good news was that in a previous puzzle, she had learned how to use the meditation technique required to summon a Legendary Spirit from a rudimentary portal leading to the World Between Worlds. But the bad news was that the catalyst intended for her, a piece of armourweave cloak according to a rudimentary Holocron made by her father, whose settings she did manage to unlock at her present level in the Force, that could have allowed her to summon her intended Saber. So, unfortunately, apparently Count Dooku of Serenno was out. 

So she had to improvise. The good news was, there was another test: another puzzle based on kyber-crystal mechanics -- a specialty of the Tohsaka Clan's Force tradition in both Gem creation and adaptive technology -- that she passed. She unlocked another mechanism which revealed a singed, and dented Mandalorian helmet. She had hoped, using the power of the Ritual creating the War Between Worlds, that she could summon a Legendary Spirit in the form of Tarre Vizsla and his Darksaber as Saber. But, again, Rin failed in that in the amount of time it took her to solve the secondary puzzle, the slot of Saber had already been taken. 

So she got him instead.

Archer can't say he is entirely pleased to be the third choice: the consolation prize. In all honesty, he wasn't even sure why he answered her call in the Force at first. And his memories didn't entirely come back either. It seemed like a monumental failure all around ... in the beginning. Then he asked to touch the helmet. It was a reasonable enough request. He had enough gear, with his jet pack, his _beskar'gam_ ,  crimson armourweave small cloak, and his own red T-shaped visor to know exactly what he was intended to be. And it wasn't all shiny. He wasn't a ... shinie. A wry smile forms under his own helmet at the thought, that of all terminologies, that would have been one of the things he would recall immediately. 

Rin let him focus on the helmet. It had been a quick spike in the Force once he touched it and closed his eyes.

_He saw through the eyes of someone who definitely wasn't a shinie. Assassin ... Slick, navigated around the fields, and trap mines left around the Tohsaka Compound. His ... brothers selected him for their Master's mission. Their Master ... another slaver using them for his purposes. They still hadn't forgiven him. Ridiculous. So when the person acting as their anchor in the world of the living, making them slaves beyond death itself, wanted the rival Master -- his former teacher -- eliminated along with his Servant Archer, he was selected. Their Master had located some Mandalorian armour. A cheap knock-off of the real thing, except for the helmet. The helmet needed to be real. And it was nothing like a HUD, or if it was, it had been fried a long time ago._

_A simple strategy. He'd go on, his bland sense in the Force -- as their slaver explained -- wouldn't be detected by Tohsaka Tokiomi. No one knew that Assassin was more than just one man. If all went well, he would kill Tohsaka, his lack of connection eliminating his Archer, and he'd return to his brethren. Maybe there'd even be a sliver of forgiveness, or at least acceptance that he was one of them again. Perhaps, with some persuasion and time, he would convince them to turn on their slaver, and find someone they could use to liberate themselves, use the World Between Worlds to liberate all of their brothers retroactively ... kark the Republic, and the Confederacy ... both long gone._

_If he failed, then as far as the other Masters ... the other slavers, and their Legendary Slaves knew, Assassin had been eliminated, and their ... Master left powerless, so that he could continue his own plans. But Assassin doesn't trust their Master. Not one bit. Even as he pretends to be Jango Fett, or his son Boba from what the other told him, or some kind of lone Mandalorian bounty hunter, commando, or some obscure folk hero, Assassin -- once known as Slick -- has his own plans. He will succeed here, despite them all, and then ..._ _His eyes widen when he sees the dignified old man in his armourweave cloak. No ... it couldn't be. Archer's bearded face smiles at him, almost pityingly, as he gestures with one hand. Assassin, once known as Slick, dressed as Jango Fett, feels himself thrown hard into a pole -- with one of Tohsaka Tokiomi's crystalline bombs -- as it explodes, and he dies ... realizing he never had a chance at all, somehow feeling a hidden sense of glee from his supposed Master ..._

Psychometry could be a real bicce, Archer knows. The object didn't just give the practitioner the memories of the last user, but their emotions and the recollection of their physical status as well. It figures his catalyst would be something that didn't belong to him. Nothing he had was his, when it came right down to it. It never had been. 

Archer ended up telling his Master that while he couldn't remember who he was, he was a Mandalorian warrior: a lie that partially hurt telling her. He wasn't a true Mando'a, even though he had worked alongside a few of their Clans in his time: had even somehow won the friendship of a metalsmith who taught him how to forge his own armour. He made that beskar'gam, including its lightsaber resistant aspects, and even though he didn't think he deserved it ... or their friendship, he tried to honour the armour as much as he could. He was nothing, but his tasks were everything.

It didn't take much to convince Rin, or give her the intimation, that he was a bounty hunter. Her mind is strong, but his suggestions -- part of his psychic Projections -- come to him naturally: the same kind that allow him to get under his enemies' guards, that allow him to read them as though he'd known for years ... It helps that she believes him when he says he has no use for the World Between Worlds. She, as the last scion of her Clan, can have it. She can claim it for the honour of the Tohsaka Clan once he helps her clear out the other targets. He's almost tempted to ask for a whole lot of credits for his troubles, for targets dead or alive, but he thinks he would be overselling the persona far too much, and he had never really been a good liar: even when he pretended to be an actual person.

Frankly, Archer doesn't care if Rin thinks he is Jango Fett -- or Boba Fett -- himself. He remembers that he actually has one mission: and one mission only.

Archer had built himself up, more or less, from nothing. Because, at his core, he is literally nothing. And what he couldn't fill in, others had -- for some reason -- given him. He doesn't understand it, even now. He just did his job towards the end: killing Force Adepts that abused their powers, that delved into secrets and lost techniques that could endanger the galaxy such as it was. He took all the tough jobs, and if his body had barely existed when he started out, he had almost been scraps towards the end. But he has to admit, even at the worst of the worst, when he saved their victims, when he saw that light in his eyes, he almost ... just for a little while, felt ... whole. 

Like an actual sentient being.

Even when Saber ... so eerily familiar, so painfully so, stops him from his first attempt -- which isn't a real one, but more of a gauging on his part -- he doesn't give up. He makes sure Rin knows that he thinks Saber's Master is a liability, and that they should terminate him. But the girl, for all of her cold exterior, is still affected by sentiment. Sentiment is an enemy he knows all too well. Perhaps that is what ultimately motivates him. It gets worse when she begins helping the boy, that callow youth, that rank amateur, that fake human being. She and Saber are instructing him in how to use his powers so he doesn't kill himself. 

And so, with Rin's own compulsion on him to keep him a team player, he goes along with it. He actually gives the little brat some pointers. It's good that Saber is teaching him swordplay, that Rin might even show him how to utilize and make his own kyber crystal while not making too much of a fool of himself. He can even see how the boy can instinctively understand how to use technology or tools: to know what they were intended for. He can even fool others into thinking he has more than he does. That he is more than who he really is.

It rankles him when Rin gives Shirou the helmet that summoned him -- for protection -- and when the boy is actually making decent progress repairing it. Mechanics seems to calm the brat down, to make him focused. He actually gives him some pointers on how to do it. He also teaches him how to handle some blasters. His mental suggestions and projections can only get him so far before his lack of telekinesis and his mediocre swordplay -- through vibroblade or lightsaber alike -- karks him. Archer learned that the hard way himself. His best bet would be to follow the way of an Adept Slayer: utilizing sonic grenades to disrupt concentration, slug throwers and incendiary rounds to thwart telekinesis, improved cybernetics, expensive cortosis weave to displace both single blaster shots -- and lightsaber strikes -- chemical psychotrophics and stimulants and advanced modes of meditation to offset mental suggestion and always targeting the weaker of a Master-Student pair ...

If he makes it that long.

And then, when things come to their inevitable point, he tells him that he is pretty useless: that he while he is worthless, he has to imagine something that isn't ... that this is the central part of his real power.

It doesn't change anything, though.

Archer carries his Master, one of the people who means the most to him, under his arm as they scout. He knows that she deserves to be with Saber far more than the boy does. And she will get her chance. Despite Saber's appearances and mannerisms, their last bout demonstrated how much better than him she really is: better than most. 

No, Archer doesn't need the World Between Worlds. He doesn't need to go back in time. He can Project a Darksaber if Rin needs him to do so. He can summon an entire Trial of the Spirit for anyone who tries to get in his way. The truth of the matter is that Archer has already gotten his wish. He is already back where he needs to be. And he has finally found his quarry.

At last, when the time came, Emiya Shirou would be eliminated. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ... was a real surprise.
> 
> In fact, this was even more difficult to deal with than making a Star Wars version of Emiya Shirou. The conceit is that Fate Masters were supposed to be paired up with Star Wars new canon Heroes. Originally, I was thinking about pairing Rin with Leia Organa, but it just didn't take when I attempted to write it. It frustrated the fuck out of me, to be honest. Then I thought about pairing her with Boba Fett, but the character dynamic just didn't work: save that they both lost their fathers.
> 
> And then ... I realized something.
> 
> Sure enough, Psychometry is still canon under Quinlan Vos. And then I thought about what I did with my version of Shirou. And then I realized that Archer had always been something of a cipher. I also recalled a plot element I wanted to introduce in Star Wars: Fate/Zero: which a friend of mine outside of A03 gave me an idea. He wanted to know, specifically, how Kotomine would use the Star Wars canon Assassin I chose for him. I was going to add it to Star Wars: Fate/Zero until I remembered what the conceit was with that, and the importance of the helmet. 
> 
> The two tied together well. I thought about what a young Shirou growing after the War would need to learn to survive. And where he could go ... I thought doing this would make me violate the rule I placed on myself of a Fate Master and a Star Wars character. And it kind of did. But as far the other characters and this Fusion universe knows, he might as well belong to it. I like it. It filled me with enthusiasm instead of frustration, so as far as I am concerned: this is a win.
> 
> I hope you are continuing to enjoy these. I think I will actually continue this. And those that celebrate it, have a Happy Fourth of July.


	3. Chapter 3

A part of Berserker knows he shouldn't have done this, that he should have been past this a long time ago.

But there is another part of him that can't quite bring himself to feel remorse for disposing of such ... refuse.

The old man's -- the ancient alchemical construct's -- neck snaps between his metallic fingers after several, long agonizing seconds. He looks at the pale, white-robed thing, little more than a glorified, bearded doll as cold as death as it was in its semblance of life, and throws it hard against the wall. Pathetic. Only the sickening crunch its body makes against the ichor-stained furniture gives him some of the satisfaction that he knows, at this stage, he shouldn't be feeling. But he can't help it.

Berserker is literally vibrating with rage. It started outside, in a place as cold as that parody of an old man's -- of a corpse's -- heart. The Wampas had come for them in the night of Hoth, as they had done when he stormed the Rebellion's Echo Base so many millennia ago now. But the bloodshine of his lightsaber, lost to him so long ago, bisected them. Over and over again. It made sense. Their blood and fear was what called him back ... he thinks ... When wires, and alchemical constructs made from a poignant fear, the most desperate plea, reminded him of the physical world -- of this plane, one of several material planes of existence -- and he reached out to take a quavering hand ...

The Wampas died easily: through his lightsaber, into his fists, under his heel. The Castle's perimeter defenses fared no better. He stormed here, his cloak fluttering back from his armoured shoulders like the wings of Death, as he cut down these alchemical abominations with their all too beautiful, all too perfect pallid flesh, their red eyes actually widening into something approximating fear as he extinguished them, destroying their updated vibro-axes, their blasters, and force spikes one by one. He saw his mask in their red eyes, the colour of the liquid that spilled out of their crushed bodies as they fell, a black death's head, a skull being the last thing their constructed binary sentience would ever conceptualize ...

It should have sickened him. To see such pain and fear again. To inflict it once more on the material plane. But it didn't. It actually made him feel ... better. It was familiar, somehow. And it did nothing, nothing at all, to extinguish the burning rage inside of him. If anything, it only fueled his power as the Dark Side roared like the dragon it was, like he had always been ...

Then a small, but strong voice tells him to stop.

And he does. He towers over one of the constructs, wearing the livery of this supposedly noble House of Force Adepts, holding a large vibro-axe of her own. There is another one of the servants there too, holding nothing but he can sense the power of the Force emanating from her, and her bare hands. Definitely the product of Force alchemy. Perhaps even an adaptation of the Sith Alchemy his ... former Master would favour at times. He should exterminate them. The old man, or the parody of one, could have left commands in their minds. It wouldn't be the first time a Master did that. It wouldn't be the last either.

But as he looks down at the little girl, whose own red eyes belay her apparent physical age, as she gives the two servants orders in a much older, colder voice, he sees them relax, and stand down. Just like droids. Just like ... clones ...

The girl puts a hand on his thigh. She is small, that is about how high her delicate arm can even reach. She tells him that he did well. That he did better than she had even thought ... He thinks he sees a glimmer of moisture in her eyes before she turns away from him, to keep her dignity. That thing was supposed to have been her Grandfather. The rest had just been her House's servants. Other servants come out at the girl's command. They bow in deference to her, calling her Illyasviel-sama. 

It wouldn't be the first time he had a Master that influenced him to kill their former pawns. It wouldn't be the first time he helped engineer the bloody succession of a new leadership. It wouldn't be the first time he killed someone who thought themselves Master of another. 

His rage actually seems to dim down, as the girl closes her eyes. He considers the events that have transpired. Illyasviel is a construct herself ... or at least to a point where her composition was combined with organic, perhaps even humanoid matter. The World Between Worlds, that he approached, abandoning his ascension, his freedom, for this time ... for this little girl that held his crushed, ancient helmet in her hands as she warded off those Wampas with her glittering wires, and small glimmering subservient constructs ... with the very strength of Force suggestion and domination from her red eyes, whispered through the Force, reminding him of enough.

This is the House of Einzbern, a Clan of Force Adepts that had utilized something approximating midichlorian manipulation to actually ... create forms from the midichlorians, the very technique his Master once promised to teach him to save someone he ... would destroy. How they were able to do this, even on a rudimentary level -- to subvert midichlorians from their secret world, is beyond his understanding now ... as the Berserker class, as taking physical form, reduces much of his knowledge from his time as a Force spirit. Illyasviel is supposed to absorb the life energies of seven Legendary Spirits, her alchemical structure made to help repair a former Gate to the ... World Between Worlds on Lothal.

Illyasviel is supposed to be a conduit, a ... a bearer of a Prophecy similar to that of the woman who bore the Chosen One from the midichlorians, from the will of the Force, just like ...

Fury builds in him, as it did when he realized it the first time when he realized the old man threw the girl out into the wastes of Hoth to summon him. They couldn't summon ... his son, the boy having once almost died on this very planet, in their last War and so they summoned him instead to do their dirty work ... to kill everything in their path to fully access ... to access ... the Well-Spring of Life. Of course they wanted it. He remembers that from the World Between Worlds, from their small and jury-rigged Ritual and its basic command functions: mnemonically filling him in like the finest flash learning a clone could accept. The Clan once had a greater link to this place, or so they kept telling themselves. It would allow them to be the masters of life and death. He recalls his Master wanting to find the World Between Worlds. Perhaps, with his technological terror constructed, he hoped to have more time to find it elsewhere after a setback on Lothal ... Perhaps he wanted to find the Well-Spring itself ...

Whether Illysaviel's Clan had been a group of Force Adepts after the destruction of the Jedi and galactic civilization that had found a way to access the Spring before losing that knowledge again due to personal greed and narrow-mindedness, or if it was a family myth was irrelevant. He ... he knows why he came back now. Illyasviel. Illya ...

The way she looks up at him. The way the two of them fought off the Wampas and destroyed all that was in their way. The way they confronted her Grandfather ... the thing that called himself that ...

He saw into her mind. He saw the death of her mother, which could not have been stopped. He clenches his fist at that thought, remembering another. He sees her father abandoning her, leaving her behind for her Clan's cruel experiments to continue. He sees a man leaving him behind to burn in pieces on Mustafar, another older man making promises to him that he didn't keep, another older man doing the same on a desert world before being cut down by a demon on a temperate planet ... 

But her mother ... the woman he loved being strangled by his own hand on Mustafar. And the desert world and an older woman telling him not to look back. Then the visions, and hunting for her, finding her mutilated body in a tent, dying in his arms ... She bore him. She was the Vessel of the Chosen One. But she was his mother. His _mom_ ... and they took her from him while everyone else abandoned him ... 

He somehow feels Illysaviel take his hand: the one he is clenching into a fist. The furniture and furnishings that remain in the Castle stop shaking from the telekinetic manifestation of his old anger. He sees her. He ... really  _sees_ her. And looking back at him is a determination he saw once before at many gatherings at the Imperial Palace, on the Tantive IV, on the Death Star ... in brown eyes ... when he began his mind probe, when he summoned the droid to his side, when he ...

She tells him that she's here. Berserker isn't foregone enough to think Illyasviel is his daughter. That is a sin he can never take back. Old grief and self-loathing returns, but they are quickly replaced with a resolve ... something he hasn't felt in a long time. This is a girl. A child. He doesn't care how she was born, or who her parents were. He doesn't care that in his time he had murdered countless mothers, fathers, and their children. All he sees is a little girl being made to do something that is atrocious to do even to a woman, as a parody of the mother that bore and loved him ...

And he knows this will not be countenanced. 

They are going to Lothal. Illyasviel has her own quest, her own revenge, or perhaps ... a journey of discovery to seek there. He doesn't know if he can help save her. But he knows he will defend her, this little girl that he abandoned a salvation he never deserved to have. And perhaps she will discover something about her family in the process. He can only hope her quest will not be as filled with blood or damnation as his had inevitably become. But Berserker will be at her side, to the end if need be ... and if he can, he will use the World Between Worlds to guide her essence ... to a place she could call home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think many people could see this one coming. He was in a bonus chapter in Star Wars: Fate/Stay Zero, but if anyone deserved an overly protective monstrous guardian of a father-figure substitute, it would be Illya. If anything, these two would probably understand each other the most. 
> 
> And it is so much fun writing his character. There is only one other who I have even more fun with ... but Dark Side characters are the best to write out, I find. Anyway, these were the easy ones ... in a manner of speaking. I will try to see what I can do with the others or, rather, I will see what I will do with the others.
> 
> Do or do not, and all of that.


	4. Chapter 4

Caster knows what happened to the Jedi Temple on Lothal.

Gone, it was. It had been destroyed. Built over a nexus, a vergence in the Force, it had been: protecting, and focusing a portal to a plane called the World Between Worlds. When alive, he had been, Caster barely knew these secrets though, as Grand Master, a connection to the Temple he definitely had. That was how he communicated with one lost Jedi: a boy. Children, all of them ultimately were, in the end. Know not what many of them did. 

Caster had seen many things in the multifaceted perspective of the Force, even when long past the material plane he had been. Even before. Heard of the Anchorites, the Ones, he did from Jedi long gone: perhaps waiting somewhere even now in the Netherworld of the Force though, perhaps, if he squints his eyes just so, he might be able to make out the presences of one muted bright spot ... and the other, a concealed inferno that forgets himself ...

The Legendary Spirit shakes his motley, wrinkled head. First, heard of the Ones and their ancient drama on Mortis, he did. Then, on his own quest did he go: to Dagobah, his final home as it became full of life and energy where met his first spiritual instructor, he did, then the Well-Spring of Life and its existence in a plane of Hyperspace with the flow of midichlorians through the Cosmic and Living Force, with the masked Force Priestesses and their puzzles, then the snares of Moraband and Sith sorcery ... and eventually, after much pain and suffering -- of loss and the darkness -- the final mystery. 

See it now, he can. Organic constructs, made of ancient alchemy, used in new and haphazard ways to his old eyes marking the land beneath the site where the Temple used to rest. The Force whispers to him and, as always, listens to it he does. The War of the World Between Worlds. Four failures to materialize the portal. To use the constructs, powered with the energy of Legendary Spirits, called back from the Netherworld of the Force, made flesh by Force-bonding with seven Masters: Force Adepts of this time. Only one pair ... one ... being could use this. Another part required. A Vessel for the life energies. This place, on Lothal, where the Temple dwelt, just the foundation made by three Clans. Barely knew what they did, they had. Lost, the Temple Key Stone was. A large workaround the Masters of these Clans required. Impressive, yet disturbing it all was.

Caster found himself brought back here, millennia after his passing, through a catalyst. A young Adept, Atrum Galliasta, of a younger Adept Clan summoned him. He had sensed how important it was, to this place, to this time, to be here before disaster could repeat itself. Left the Netherworld he did, hoping that this Adept would be a worthy ally, perhaps an Initiate in the Jedi way.

Disappointed Caster was, on both counts.

Caster found a heart that was shallow, and empty. And worse: though trained in a variant of Force Alchemy, tainted by the arrogance of the Dark Side young Galliasta was. Used Younglings -- _children_ \-- to make a weaker form of kyber crystal for his Force techniques. Absolutely unforgivable. Caster used his power in the Force to neutralize the override on his physical body, eliminating the prospective Master's power over him after attempting to entice him with young flesh, then cow him with threats. Much knowledge has been lost in this time, to think that a Jedi Master -- a Jedi Grand Master -- could be influenced by such things, if Galliasta's ego were indicative of such. What the young Adept believed to be his greatest victory, in summoning him, became his greatest failure. His final defeat. And, unfortunately, as Caster suspected, one from which he would not learn.

First, dismantled the Adept's Workshop he did after neutralizing his influence over him. Then, freed the children he had, notifying those families that he could, and finding homes for the others. Wiped away their trauma, he did: easing their pain with the Force, their memories to heal over eventually. 

Then Galliasta, already subdued, given a long talking to. Influenced to give all his assets to those families he had wronged. And then, after being told to rethink his life and find remorse, told to turn himself in to the proper local authorities to confess his crimes he was. Caster wiped away all knowledge of the War Between Worlds and his reason for being on Lothal. His mercy the authorities, and perhaps the secret societies of the Adept Clans could determine. Safe not, that knowledge was in a mind like Galliasta's. Possibly not safe knowledge in any mind, for that matter.

Came to the site of the portal, he did. The Force nexus, from his time, on another world, still strong here. Guarded by the Loth-wolves as it has always been. 

After meditating on the currents of the Force -- and taking his gimer stick back from his former Master -- knew Caster did exactly what needed to be done. First, take control of his own override, mental command, and self-destruct commands -- impulses in his borrowed flesh -- he did. A simple matter, when the Force was one's ally. But required more energy, he did as well: much more than Root Leaf stew could provide. Caster found a Temple, a small shrine, made by the Guardians of the Whills. Pleased to see that their order survived Jedha so many years before. Told the monks a traveler he was, seeking shelter and a place to meditate. Agreed to this, the monks did, and eventually Caster became accepted by them.

In turn, taught them meditative practices he did. Katas too. Not full on Jedi training. His own counsel, as he said to a boy on Dagobah so long ago, he will continue to keep on who he trains as Jedi. Masking this small place from intruders -- Masters and their Legendary Spirits -- with the Force, he also was. Disappointed in this galaxy, Caster admitted he was. The Republic, gone, replaced with many different governments. Many more, since the tyranny of the Empire. The Jedi were also gone, save these blood line Force Adept Clans made from remnants of theirs -- and Sith -- philosophies. Perhaps other sects as well. The only unified groups the Tower of the Force Adept Confederation on Coruscant, and the Church of the Force: both only dedicated to the preservation of Force techniques, and keeping their secrets from the rest of the galaxy or gaining converts, they were. 

Change this, however, he cannot. He _will_ not. Dreams pass in time, only to reawaken in cycles. Such is the way of things. Such are the ways of the Force.

Still, modest the monks of the Whills here are. And humble. Existing off the emanating nexus beneath the land where the Temple, he also was. However, two problems there were. A place to the Temple he could not mask, or affect with illusion. Whether he could do this in life, or not, Caster cared not if the Ritual gave him such power. A Guardian of a whole other kind this place would need. 

Another requirement. For Caster to leave the domain of the Temple, without becoming one with the Force once more, another living anchor he required. This last, Caster found. An instructor from an Academy, one Kuzuki Souichirou. A visitor to the Temple of the Whills, he was. Though lacking in the power of the Force, perfect posture and breathing does Kuzuki possess. Breathing and Walking, some ancient martial traditions call it. But there is more than that. Though courteous, and bland on the surface, Caster sees Kuzuki's heart. It is deep, and hollow ... and sad. Much darkness, did this man see as a boy. Made into a weapon, he had been before he reached his purpose. An assassin. Seeing Kuzuki made Caster understand. Recalling his erstwhile "Master," and his fellows, he did. Know well, he does, through communion with the Force that dangerous most of the other Masters and Spirits could be. One ,... one possibly, eerily familiar presence keeps eluding his sight, making himself hide himself all the more. Caster knows all too well that true Sith sorcery could pierce the boundaries of the spiritual. On guard for this, and other exploitation he must be. 

He confides to Kuzuki what the younger man knows already. Sad he is, a person without a sense of purpose. Asks him to join him, he does, to function as his anchor to this plane so that defend against evil they can. Kuzuki bows to Caster, calling him a wise man to read his heart and do what he must. A Force-bond is established between them. Caster trains him, honing the skills that are there, while using his power in the Force to bolster the man's bare-handed strengths. Taught only the basics of martial arts, to the most dangerous degree and to blend into his surroundings, Kuzuki was. Sad as that may be, Caster takes a lesson from this and follows suit while ... continuing to seek a guardian for the weakness in his barrier of mental illusions that challenge weaker minds. 

But only when the female convor finds him, flying to his shoulder meditating, after this work is done, does Caster begin to realize what he already knows. Take a more active role, in another war -- in this War -- he must. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was challenging as all kark.
> 
> I didn't actually think I could do this. And I know the syntax is not perfect. Then again I suspect that this ... Caster, has never been consistent with his grammar and sentence structure. Much to learn, I still have. But wow. Did that ever turn into something particularly interesting. 
> 
> I also debated whether or not to introduce Kuzuki into this world I made, especially as Caster's Master. It is hard to see him with anyone other than Medea. His relationship to this Star Wars Caster is an acolyte to a Master. He isn't being trained as a Jedi, but he is getting wisdom and instruction: giving his hollow heart a sense of purpose. Perhaps it works, but who knows. 
> 
> Now, however, things are starting to get interesting. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

The dusky, dry air around the Temple reminds Assassin of Jedha, and the lost Temple of the Kyber: first seized by the Empire, and then destroyed by its ultimate weapon.

Despite the circumstances of his return, Assassin is happy that some of his brethren not only survived so many years ago, but went on to be one of the groups in the galaxy that flourished if this humble Temple was of any indication. He can _feel_ it under his hands, beneath his feet, at the root of his staff, and in the way that the wind would play through the sands and the architecture of this place ... And the way that the rock even _sounded_. 

Between Caster, whom he is more than honoured to serve, and the Ritual of the World Between Worlds, Assassin is still somewhat perplexed about how he is actually here, and in his current state. Caster explained to him, after some time, that the Ritual -- created by three Clans of powerful Force Adepts formed in the wake of the Jedi and Sith's periodic destruction millennia ago -- had only seven slots to revive seven Legendary Spirits into something akin to flesh again from a rudimentary portal that was the World Between Worlds. His had been the last slot: the last place. 

Assassin isn't completely sure about the particulars as, Caster admits, he is somewhat of an irregular entity in this strange Ritual ... this War for a place that can influence space and time. As such, the system itself -- something akin to a larger Holocron as Caster explains -- didn't tell him everything. Even his summoning, by Caster, shouldn't have been done. Theoretically, only a Force Adept from this time in the galaxy could serve as a Master -- an anchor -- to keep him tethered here. Caster had had to encounter another prospective Master, apparently from a group known as the Tower of the Force Adept Confederation, _influence_ him to surrender his link to the World Between Worlds, used the Force to sever his link to the rudimentary portal, make him forget that he had ever been a part of it, and return to his group in ignorance. That much Assassin can believe. Between Caster's explanation that the potential Master had wanted to keep his involvement in the War a secret from his fellows given what was at stake, and knowing who Caster actually was in life, it made sense to Assassin that this had been so.

The rest was more complicated. Caster communed with the Force to take the slot in the Ritual meant for another, and without a catalyst he summoned ... Assassin in his present state. He isn't sure why he was summoned in the Assassin class, and asked Caster how he is even here in that capacity. It's true that he had worked with the Partisans with his brother for a time after they had been exiled from their Temple, before they proved to be just as bad as the Imperials in some ways. It's also true he had disarmed, and even killed many stormtroopers in hand to hand combat on Jedha, destroyed a TIE Fighter on Eadu, and eventually that fateful day on Scarif. But while he could be stealthy, and even avoid wide streaks of blaster fire by the the way the ozone smelled in the air, and how the focused gas of blaster fire sounded past his ears and felt in the wind, he was rarely one that killed someone without their knowledge. 

A part of him considers that he would been more at home as an Archer, or even a Lancer: both facts of which Caster agreed, and commiserated with him. But upon reflection, sitting here on the hill that according to others looked like a desert, save for his brethren -- who had in the intervening years greatly terraformed the Temple and its grounds, far more open than the streets of Jedha City had ever been, into something akin to grassland with trees -- and focusing his eye inward, Assassin suspects he knows the way of things. The Empire, if it had known about him, would have classified him as a religious extremist: a terrorist not unlike a Jedi in their minds. It is a fact that makes him proud. From his dealings with the Partisans and Rogue One, if there had been any intelligence on him and how he fought ... and how he died, they would have seen him as something of a murderer, someone that snuck around with his friends. Perhaps they conflated him with his poor brother who had forsaken many of the ways of the Guardians towards the end of his own life who, in retrospect, would have been far more appropriate an Assassin than he. As Caster, and the Guardians of many generations liked to say, the future is always in motion, and one's recollection of the past changes as well. If anyone did remember the man he used to be, they might remember him as an assassin, even if he doesn't feel like he is one. 

Still, Assassin can't quite fault the results of his summoning. His Zama-shiwo always allowed him to alter his heart and oxygen intake. His summoning by Caster didn't alter his natural blindness, which suited him just fine: as his other four senses along with his intuition were as sharp -- even sharper -- than ever. He can move silently. Quickly. The fact that many of his seeing opponents couldn't see or perceive him until it was too late is an irony that is not lost on Assassin. Even those with the Force, as he had experienced and had been pointed out to Assassin by Caster as well, had difficulty sensing his presence due to the way he had disciplined his body and mind. Perhaps Assassin isn't Force-sensitive -- and certainly, in life, he had never been trained as a Jedi, nor had their reflexes or powers -- but the Art of the Guardians, of following the Force, had never failed him: not even at the end when the Force willed what it did. 

Unfortunately, because of the nature of his summoning with Caster needing to use the Force nexus underneath the foundation of what used to be the Lothal Jedi Temple, Assassin couldn't leave the grounds without dissipating, as the older Legendary Spirit put it. Still, he made do. When he didn't patrol the grounds, and keep those enemy Masters and their Legendary Spirits out -- bolstered by his Art and the clarity gifted him by Caster's power -- he sparred with the other Guardians of this time, carefully filling in the potential gaps in their own knowledge that was lost over time and trauma. He had to make sure to operate at at least five percent efficiency, so as not to use his new connection to Caster -- as a Legendary Spirit -- to completely overpower, hurt, or even accidentally kill the other monks. Kuzuki, Caster's anchor and friend, was someone he also liked to spar with: forsaking his staff to actually fight unarmed. He had seen into Kuzuki's heart and saw a cell ... a darkness that was changing from being suffocating into something else, something cool and nurturing, something more peaceful and focused -- a place of meditation and awareness -- under Caster's tutelage.

Often, when they could, the three of them had tea together, which prompted Assassin to consider following: if a martial artist made into an assassin and an assassin made into a martial artist drink tea with a dead Jedi Master in a Temple is either the beginnings of a koan, or a joke. Perhaps, in Assassin's opinion, it is not a mutually exclusive situation. He marvels at it sometimes, at the three of them: his own blindness, Caster's short-stature and limitations of advanced age, and Kuzuki's hollow heart -- the greatest hardship of them all -- and how each of them adapted their styles around their disabilities, and made them into strengths. 

It isn't as peaceful an existence as Assassin would like. Sometimes, the other Masters and their Legendary Spirits come. He has clashed his staff, imbued by Caster -- with an angry Lancer's twin blades that are also one far from the Temple itself, but still on the grounds. He pities her situation, knowing she is thrown back into the darkness from whence she once left. He has faced a woman with her own staff, who wants to change a past that she believes she failed, his heart aching with empathy as he reads her own and sees that she wonders if she had truly related to those she tried to save, as she comes to grips with whether or not she had ever made a difference at all. He had actually needed to draw out his lightbow bowcaster to counter Archer, who he could tell had just been testing him: even as he had been doing the same ... sensing a similar hollowness to Kuzuki, but a very specific purpose. He hopes the other will find another way to find peace. 

Berserker had been hard. Caster himself had to intervene. Apparently, the two had known each other in life ... and beyond it. Caster had been the other's ascended Master. Berserker's Master and Caster had traded barbs for a while, with one or both them apparently ... sticking out their tongues at each other before Berserker, in a confused, deep bass rumble, told his Master -- this little girl that wasn't -- that they should leave. Only one other Legendary Spirit came in ... Rider, and while they did spar -- the latter also with two blades -- there was a clarity of purpose, even while muted by stress ... for another. Assassin had been ordered to let her pass and see Caster. 

Such a mixture of different personalities coming to these gates. They were as motley, and varied as the people that lived in Jedha City, when it existed ... as diverse as the friends and comrades which the Force blessed him in dying with for a greater cause. Assassin isn't sure what will happen next. But he knows that the strongest stars are those with hearts of kyber, as most of the Legendary Spirits possess. And some of their Masters as well. They just need to be forged. Some may not survive. He may not survive again. 

He feels a pang as he realizes that his brother is still somewhere, in the Netherworld of the Force. But even so, he knows he is still with him. He knows that he is still with him so long as the Force is with him. And he is one with the Force.

And the Force is with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun making Assassin. It's true. I thought about making him the equivalent of Fate Lancer, but I could not see him obeying Kotomine, and if he did ... having it end well. It wouldn't have lasted long. But having Caster and Assassin be relatively good guys makes for an interesting dynamic, especially when you know what they are up against. 
> 
> And writing Assassin, given who he is, was like I said so much fun. 
> 
> Also, can you just imagine Illya and Yoda arguing back and forth. sticking out their tongues at each other, while Berserker just gives up and leaves in exasperation? I could. 
> 
> Now the next two Master-Servant pairs will be interesting. Stay tuned.


	6. Chapter 6

Lancer should have been used to this by now, but amid the familiar fury is another old friend. Resignation.

The girl, Fraga, should have just left her alone, in the waters where she had been returned ... if that was where her previous life had finally ended.

It was on Dathomir. Her former ... Master, Bazett of the Fraga Clan, wanted to find a galactic hero of her people. Lancer knows, after being summoned from the World Between Worlds, how perspectives can change over time: especially when the HoloNet had been fractured by the disintegration of a unified galactic government. Lancer doesn't care about this. After a life of anarchy and survival on the planet of Rattatak, she'd gotten used to that state of affairs ages ago.

No, this was about the Witches of Dathomir. 

Most of the galaxy of her time, even before it had been split into two, had only known about the Nightsisters: and even that had only been legends and hearsay. Some believed their magick was simply an application of the Force, another culture's perspective on the energy that surrounds, binds, and dominates the galaxy and all sentient life within it. Most agreed that the societies on Dathomir had been matriarchal: whether they were all human, humanoid, Zabrak, or some hybrid called Dathomirian, the women were the primary practitioners of the Force while all males were slaves ... or servants, little more than Force-using slaves to the Sisters known as the Nightbrothers. 

But there might have been other ... Clans on the planet. At least that is what the Fraga girl ... Bazett, believed. Whether they were descended from an exiled female Jedi, or crash landed spacers of all species, or former prisoners in which Dathomir had been made a prison world, they formed into their own Clans, and developed affinity to the Force: one way or another. Lancer recalls her Master stating that she had belonged to the Fraga Clan: Witches that utilized the ichor that the Nightsisters once had, to do more than simply corrupt, curse with sympathetic magick, poison, or attempt to animate the remains of the dead. Lancer recalls ichor: a green mist in the depths of the planet, a substance that acted like an intermediary with the Force, an organic, mystical quasi-physical compound that allowed for the materialization of objects from the mind of a Nightsister ... or a Witch. 

She recalls the Mother of her Clan ... materializing blades from its depths once. She remembers it being used to heal and harm minds. When she sees the woman that summoned her create a glittering blade, she knows its the same. And yet, she can't sense the Dark Side around Bazett, then. Lancer recalls the girl telling her that she had wanted to do more than just lead her Clan here, Clan Fraga that sought to improve upon, and keep to themselves the secret of ichor as a facet of the Force: as their Force tradition. But Bazett wanted more. She wanted to increase her power. To improve on it. She wanted to get off-world, to an organization known as Tower of the Force Adept Confederation and gain recognition there. And she had. She had left this place, but at a cost. She had forsaken the lizard armour of her people for a neat academic uniform like those worn by the Adepts of the Tower, and her hair no longer had its braid, but was a short magenta: if indeed that had ever been its original colour. 

Because she fought to improve on the techniques of her people, with her sample of ichor -- in her body, a buffer for her midichlorians or some sort of pseudo-mystical babble -- she rejected her family, and her family rejected her. She had summoned Lancer, apparently, with the ichor in her body, near the waters which were supposedly her final resting place, because she had been a Dathomiri, a Witch ... a Nightsister, the most famous of her kind to escape Dathomir and make a name for herself: to conquer an entire world, and lead even the forces of the Confederacy themselves. Fraga said, with some bashfulness, that some even worshiped her as a battle goddess to this very day.

She recalled chortling at that image. If only those fools had known.

Lancer could tell that the girl had been disappointed when she told her that she had little to no knowledge of how to make, or even harness the ichor: that that had been the providence of her Clan Mother. And she isn't sure if it had been the ichor that brought Lancer back from the Netherworld, from the Mists, or the two all too familiar twisted hilt lightsabers that she thought long lost. Still, they'd had time to spar ... and though Lancer outclassed Fraga, she had to admit the girl knew how to brawl. Certainly, the ichor allowed her moments where she could even counter, and one point disarmed Lancer without warning. Lancer could see, then, how that would destroy any other so-called Force Adept if they underestimated the girl. The supposed covenant her Clan made with the ichor, up to her -- their present heir -- served her well. 

But no one, least of all the girl, counted on betrayal.

Lancer was no stranger to betrayal. She'd warned Bazett to watch herself. She knew that the girl wanted to secure the World Between Worlds for the Tower, to prove she was truly a Force Adept of great elemental power, that she was more than just an Enforcer that brought in Dark Side Adepts, dangerous Force practitioners, or even political opponents to the Council that ruled it all. Lancer couldn't believe she would miss the hypocrisies of the Jedi Order at that point when she was told this, but she did. Lancer had her own plans for the portal, since it had resurrected her. 

Bazett thought the betrayal would come from the Tower, from her group in the form of an observer from a rival faction that she swiftly dispatched with an accelerated punch through the head. Lancer left her to it, before they would meet Bazett's ally. She had to admit, the child had spunk. 

But she had poor choices in friends.

She'd known there had been something wrong with Kotomine from the very beginning, as Bazett left her outside to consult with him and register in this War of which he was supposed to be an impartial judge. A priest with ties to the Church of the Force -- a Jedi-worshiping cult of all things -- and the Tower, Lancer had barely sensed that flicker of darkness from the Chapel on Lothal before finding Kotomine with a lightsaber above Bazett's cauterized limbs. 

Lancer had been furious. Another Master ... taken from her. Murdered. But Kotomine, supposedly this generation's closest thing to a Jedi according to Bazett, had somehow transferred her Force-bond with Bazett ... to himself.

She was tempted to kill him. To end him even if the compulsion of the World Between Worlds Ritual forced her to die instead. But she thought about it, about what he proposed. Lancer could still get her hands on the portal. She could still get her wish. Finding the compulsion that made a Legendary Spirit serve a Master would take too much power, a power that even if she could muster and use successfully, would leave her without an anchor in this place and time. But she didn't forget. She wanted to be past this. She thought she was past this part of her life. 

But once again, a Master was taken from her. A Master who had known what it was like for her Family to give her up, albeit for different reasons, who had only wished to belong somewhere. And now, she had no choice but to embrace another Master who did not have her best interests at heart, who ... in all probability, served someone, or something far worse. 

Kotomine kept her, ironically, as an observer for the most part. She was to gather intelligence on all the other enemy Masters and the Legendary Spirits that followed them. Sometimes that meant fighting them, gauging their strength, and retreating. Her hunting skills, her agility, her ability to track presences down, to even to some extent mask her own as she had been able to do as an assassin for the Sith helped her well. 

She knew Caster held the site of the Temple. She'd fought the blind warrior and his staff outside of it, who had said she fought with fury, but no heart: almost sending her back into her old spitefulness. As a result, she still isn't sure about who Caster is, or what he or she is doing ... even though she knows they are manipulating the nexus there to their advantage. She thought she recognized the Matou's Spirit ... but she wasn't sure. And she kept a wide berth of the Einzbern's Spirit, feeling something deep, dark, and more hateful than she had ever been ... while at the same time uncomfortably familiar. Her encounter with the Tohsaka's Master's Archer angered her for some reason ... as the Mandalorian, or the man in red Mandalorian armour continuously created Projections ... so familiar to the ichor of the Nightsisters, long slaughtered, that it almost broke her focus when someone came upon their duel. 

A boy with red hair. He had Projected too ... the miserable brat. Reminding her of all she lost. She had been told that there needed to be no outside witnesses to the War. She knew all too well at this point in existence how to silence spies, aware or no. 

But then somehow that ... boy summoned that _Jedi brat_ from his storage space ... 

She'd been worse than the _other_ brat, the one from so long ago ... At least she had been mostly a child indulging in childish names. And they'd come to an understanding. Under the mask that Lancer made herself wear, the one reminiscent of her time as a bounty hunter, she remembered scowling in fury as this slip of a girl somehow used her staff to counter her lightsaber blades -- their hilts brought together to create her own twisted lightsaber staff. She still would have killed that girl, that attempt at a Jedi and her self-righteous blather about attacking an unarmed opponent, as if he hadn't been an Adept himself, in a War he should have known about ... 

If her ... Master hadn't summoned her back.

Lancer is still fuming over all of this. She has barely seen battle, only stalking, only hunting, only watching ... All she can think of is the dead corpse of her former Jedi Master, the betrayal of her Sith instructor, the slaughter of her Sisters, the loneliness, reaching out to someone who felt a similar loneliness, who actually respected her ... not unlike another Jedi she had known once, long ago. 

Now she is a slave again. She refused to shave her head and tattoo it with a nihilistic ideology. The helmet is fine. It's not as though anyone, save perhaps a few of the other Spirits would know, nor care about who she was. But Lancer knows. She can adapt. Just as she can wield two lightsabers, or both as a double-bladed staff when the need arose, she would wait for her opening. She would slaughter the other Spirits. She ... might spare the other Masters too, unless they went to the priest for sanctuary. Then she would kill them out of mercy. 

But Kotomine would get careless. He would enjoy her suffering, his thwarting of her desires, one too many times. And then, when they had the World Between Worlds, she would cut him down ... his safe guards useless like the Force if he didn't have his head ... and she would go back and ... 

Do what?

Save her Sisters? Kill her former Sith Master? Save her Jedi Master? 

Save the man she loved?

Lancer shakes her head. It doesn't matter. Once those that sought to use her were all dead, in the War or by her own hand, she would have all the time of eternity. And either way, she would be no one's tool again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was hard too. 
> 
> I waffled back and forth about her. I saw her as Assassin for sure, for obvious reasons. I could even, if we went by Legends especially, see her as a Rider with the Matou for just as many reasons. But Lancer suits her too, and not just because of her lightsabers adjustment into a staff.
> 
> Because Lancers have terrible luck. 
> 
> And on that note, this leaves us with just one more Spirit to introduce ...


	7. Chapter 7

When Morai lands on Rider's shoulder, she knows. 

The message had been passed by the convor, and she has her answer. She holds Matou Sakura's hand: her true anchor to this plane as they finally fly towards the Temple in her ship. It's a strange thing, when she really thinks about it, how this entire experience mirrored her life over a thousand years ago.

From her summoning on Malachor, on the site of the ruined Sith Temple were the Matou, once called the Makiri Clan dwelt, facing and eventually leaving its Master who resembled all too much another twisted, wizened old man steeped in the Dark Side of the Force that glorified in having power and causing suffering over others, trying to save another Force-sensitive child in the form of Sakura, dealing with the slimy and seedy intentions of her adoptive brother Matou Shinji -- born powerless in the Force due to his Clan's horrific experiments with midichlorian manipulation -- and bound the organic artifact that the old man had given his supposed grandson when Sakura gave up being her Master. She even found herself in this struggle to gain the power of the World Between Worlds again, the place that an old friend helped her come to before being lost himself later on, helping her escape her fallen Master. 

And now she was going back to the site of where the Jedi Temple on Lothal once resided, on the world of her friend millennia gone ... 

Until today.

Matou Zouken, or whatever he used to be, bid them leave: Sakura and Shinji residing on Lothal when they studied at the Academy as simple students. Rider gained just enough energy in the Force, a trickle, to summon her ship so that they could get as far away from the old abomination as possible. She knows, through the Force, that he did ... something to his adopted granddaughter, and for all her connection to its power, she knows she can't heal her of this form of Sith alchemy: whatever it is. 

Even so, even though she hasn't been a Jedi even during the latter years of her life, she is strong enough to ... resist Matou Shinji's suggestions, with the artifact, to divest herself of her clothing, or receive his paltry physical punishment. And when he threatened to do all of those things to Sakura, Rider made it very clear that her lightsabers could cut through ... anything. It's true, at the time Shinji could have used the organic Book to make her injure or even kill herself, but she knows he would get into more trouble with his Grandfather than she would ever suffer. She also made it clear that there would not be a single mark on Matou Sakura ... or Matou Zouken should not expect anymore biological grandchildren to populate his verminous Clan.

She can sympathize with Sakura. After they talked, just a bit, she too knew that her family had given her up as well: to achieve her full potential. The difference was that the Jedi Order, for all of its flaws, had been far kinder than the Clan she had found herself thrown into. Rider had seen some truly gross -- disgusting -- things in her time in the Clone Wars and the Rebellion after it: mass slaughter, assassinations, and even slavery ... of all kinds ... But that vision of the worm pit where Sakura had been saturated with Zouken's alchemical abominations would haunt her well into her next afterlife. It was almost like the Nightsisters' ichor as potentially a tool and layer for the midichlorians ... if her very spotty knowledge of the matter were applicable at all, but worse ... so much more invasive, so much more vile ...

She also knows that, even now, Sakura -- for all of her untrained, yet considerable potential -- shielded her thoughts and memories from Rider: that she had probably gone through much worse. If ever Rider needed a reminder of the true call she accepted, of Sakura's mute cry for help, it was realizing that one fact. It also doesn't help, even now, that Zouken has influence over Sakura's body: even across space between Malachor and Lothal, a fact he made crudely clear.

Originally, Rider thought she could reason with Shinji now that he knew where his boundaries were with her. Indeed, he even seemed to consider making an alliance with a mutual friend of his and Sakura's, a childhood friend named Emiya Shirou who turned out to be a Master in the War Between Worlds. She sensed an earnest, but hollow soul in the young man: one created from great trauma. She also didn't need telepathy to know how Sakura felt about him, given everyday she visited him in his home. 

But Rider lost all hope of Shinji's better nature, if he ever had it, when he began enacting a Sith ritual around his Academy: all in an attempt to gain more life energy for herself ... as his artificial Force-bond to her did not give her much. She couldn't simply kill him. Even though she wasn't a Jedi anymore, Rider didn't subscribe to murder: even against a worm like Shinji. 

She sensed a few familiar presences on Lothal, from the other Legendary Spirits ... One she had fought, and even allied with ... Whom was also saddled with a terrible Master. Then there was a flicker of a deeper darkness ... and nothing ... followed by a powerful, burning rage that she hoped to never sense again. _He_ was supposed to have been at peace. Sometimes, even now, she thinks the Force isn't fair at all ... but then there is another flicker of a little pale girl whose small hand is in a larger, black gloved one ... and Rider thinks that, perhaps, they are not so different after all. He did train her, after all. 

It is another, more subtler presence -- emanating serenity -- that attracts her to the Temple. She tells her "Master" that she is scouting for more Legendary Spirits. She isn't sure why he wants to be in this War. Perhaps he thinks that the World Between Worlds will grant him power, even connect his soul to the Force ... or impress his monster of a Grandfather enough to attempt to use his dark power to influence the midichlorians inside him to grant him that connection: to prove himself over his "Vessel" of a "sister."

She reluctantly fights against Shirou at the Academy, when Sakura wants her to protect her brother in the meantime. Rider is relieved when the young man finally calls to his Saber. The Light Side of the Force shines brilliantly off of her. Even her old Master hadn't had that radiance. They fought even as Shirou and Tohsaka Rin destroyed Shinji's Ritual. She was going to take Shinji away from there ... She didn't want him to die. At worst, she would hand him into the authorities. 

But someone had gotten to him first. Someone dark and powerful that cauterized him to pieces with a lightsaber after crushing his throat ... 

The Book, made from potentially the same material that created this whole Ritual summoning the lot of them, had been destroyed. Perhaps it had been the order of Berserker's Master -- or maybe ... _he_ wanted her to be free too. 

Sakura agrees to renew their Force-bond and Rider can already feel the difference. But perhaps Zouken sensed something. The symbiotes in Sakura's body are reacting badly. Shirou, the young man that Sakura wanted to have protected -- who made it determinedly clear that she wanted protected over her own life -- and Rin ... whom she got a strange sympathetic resonance with regards to Sakura wanted to help ... Saber seemed trustworthy as well, but Archer still made her leery after some of their own clashes. But she knows who is in that Temple. Morai all but told her. 

Anyone else in the War would have been forgiven for thinking the reason she was Rider had to do with her ship, or her command over the now ancient Phoenix Cell. It's true, Rider is an excellent pilot. A lot of Jedi-trained adepts were, especially when one considered who her Master had once been. Indeed, most of the people of her time -- if this Ritual had existed then -- would have thought her to be a Saber, if nothing else. Indeed, her skill with her two white-bladed lightsabers had not diminished in the slightest. But she had her leadership over these other ships, this escort -- this Reality -- she summoned now that she is at greater power. But she needs more, and she suspects the Force nexus here at the site of the new Temple could oblige her ... if Caster is who she thinks he is.

And she does. 

She already knows her friend is on one of her ships, along with the rest of her friends. Some ties are greater than death, and loss themselves. He had saved her before and perhaps she can summon him too when she meets Caster. She's placed Sakura into a Healing Trance in the meantime. And ... there is another matter.

Before they left Malachor, Rider had used a mental suggestion to get Matou Shinji to gain the catalyst that summoned her. She had had to guide him, and either she succeeded, or his Grandfather simply didn't care. 

She wonders if the Lothal Temple Key is the same one her friend had, or there had been others. For a while, she ponders over why this of all things had been the thing to summon her. Perhaps it was because she had been saved, indirectly, by the World Between Worlds so long ago. But it is then that the Force whispers to her. And when she looks at Morai, on her shoulder, remembering her time on Mortis and Son's Dark Side corruption, and Daughter's touch that saved her life ... before her own had been taken, she understands a little more.

Perhaps, as she looks at the convor and the glittering light in her eye, she realizes that perhaps she has misinterpreted her situation. Perhaps she isn't the Rider here at all.

Perhaps, in the end, she is what she has always been. 

Fulcrum.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many liberties. In a lot of ways, I really had to stretch matters in attempting to sell this. She really would have made a better Saber but I agree with what I wrote ... Perhaps, in this situation, she is a better vessel for ... the real Rider. 
> 
> It might be possible to make this clearer in this next and final chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

The Emperor looks into his pool.

Underneath the Lothal Church, surrounded by the screaming, writhing spirits of the children that his acolyte -- Kotomine Kirei -- painstakingly prepared for him over the years, he draws on their suffering and despair to complete the Sith ritual as he views everything occurring on the planet's surface. 

As he chants in Balc, and channels Force Lightning into its surface he knows that everything is accounted for. Lancer is his plaything once again under his new advocate, as she was for his old one: useful for the moment until she outlived that useless, and would be consigned to the trash where she belonged. A bitter smile forms on his face. The new Caster ... Who does the old troll think he is fooling? Perhaps, ages ago, when he hid himself beyond a Force nexus it had been difficult for the Emperor to locate his old rival, the creature he should have destroyed. And to think he went so far as to use this new primitive Ritual to usurp a Legendary Spirit, little more than the wraith of a blind monk killed in one frustrating mission to guard the site of the place that will power the new portal to the World Between Worlds ... It'd be amusing, if it weren't so pathetic. 

As the Caster of the last War, the Emperor has enough contingencies in place on this world to easily thwart anything that withered old relic of a Jedi could throw at him. It seems the Jedi Master hadn't learned not to play games that he didn't understand, back from the Clone Wars. He will just have to give him and his tool a final, fatal lesson. 

This leaves the others to consider. A twisted, black smile forms on the Emperor's face as he sees his former Apprentice, and the little girl that leads him. A great Dark Lord of the Sith: reduced to the role of a glorified babysitter to an animated alchemical Vessel. How utterly hilarious. Perhaps he sought to make up for what he lost in life, for the daughter he tortured in saving this husk of a living being that thought itself a human. Kotomine Kirei is a useful, entertaining servant. Even though the Bogan, the remnants of the Son, granted him permanent incarnation in this World, far from the grips of Chaos, gaining extra life force only made the Emperor stronger. But having a Sith Apprentice again, especially one that he can punish for his betrayal ... It amuses him. But no. He will not give his Apprentice back his rank, the one he threw back in his face on the Second Death Star. But he will enjoy making that self-righteous hypocrite remember what he really is ... before he destroys him again. Perhaps he will make him watch as he utilizes the girl for her intended purpose.

Sentiment had always been his former Apprentice's weakness.

The boy that came to visit the Church is fascinating as well. Weak and pathetic, but a surprisingly strong will. The girl too ... strong for a primitive Force Adept ... and her Archer is patently absurd. He can already see what the supposed Force-sensitive Mandalorian is truly hiding. Perhaps he will let broken fool destroy himself for his amusement. Perhaps he and the boy will make that realization themselves. Certainly, young Kotomine would appreciate this as he was already needling the boy due to his adoptive father, due to their own similar, but diametrically opposed empty existences ... 

And the girl again. From the last War. The Saber. He had to admit ... the Fourth War's Berserker had potential as well, but he was somehow even more unstable than his grandfather had been. A raging young man of tantrums and a lack of vision. But the girl, that self-righteousness again. That fire that summoned anger so quickly. How easy it would be to turn that drive for justice into a lust for vengeance and power. He still hasn't given up on Saber: to create a new Sith Apprentice. And she will not be turned, she will of course be destroyed. He cannot risk her compromising the portal again.  

And this thought brings him to the last involved party. His Apprentice's pathetic student exists once more, blinded by a similar sentiment as his ... though he senses that she represents a potential shift in this War: an element of the Light Side itself. Her ... anchor is a weak, scared little girl. Yes, for now she contains a darkness that could potentially rival his own if her Clan's Master drew on it, if she had the will to take it for herself ... Perhaps the old troll will purge it out of her first. 

But wait ... Yes, of course. Rider had been running away with the boy in the World Between Worlds: the first of a few times he had been thwarted to that regard. She escaped the death that her old Master would have granted her thanks to that meddling child, but he sees something, briefly, in her hand.

The Key Stone.

The depictions of the Ones. It had been the Key that allowed those Rebels to destroy his Temple, his Gate ... 

So the Makiri Clan had found a powerful artifact in the lore of the World Between Worlds. Unfortunately, for them, he too had located something ... most useful. It had taken some doing on his and young Kotomine's part, but they found it. The Dark Side had told the Emperor, after the Bogan granted him new life, about this artifact. His Apprentice had told him about it as well after he had briefed his former Jedi Masters. 

The Einzbern Clan had found it, somehow. Or perhaps it had found them. During the Third War, they used it as a catalyst to summon the Son. But they botched the Ritual and instead brought about a weak and uncontrolled mess of darkness, little more than an unruly demon that had been dispatched by a Legendary Spirit: perhaps one of the meddlers that aided the son of Skywalker so many years ago. This object had been used to dominate and kill the Ones: and the Son had wielded it before being eliminated by the Emperor's Apprentice. 

The Einzberns tried to destroy all evidence of drawing on this power, this essence now pervading the World Between Worlds thanks to their meddling, but the artifact found its way around. The Church of the Force received it when young Kotomine's father became Overseer, and hid it away: as though sensing its power. The object itself is no threat to the Emperor, or indeed anyone else: save for those whom which it had been intended. 

But here it is again. The Emperor promised to help the maddened remnants of the Son to dominate the multiverse, but he has no intention of honouring it. Instead, with the Dagger of Mortis in his grasp, he can control Son and others of his kind: and even permanently end the entity. And then he will become the ultimate ruler of all space and time. But the Rider ... if the Son is here, then perhaps the Daughter might have found a way to survive death as well, as a fragment of spirit ... 

And the former Chosen One, to replace the Father, is also here ... along with Saber. But the Emperor is not concerned. Berserker can be easily manipulated, as can the girl. He will let the Caster of this War believe what he will, along with Rider. He can already see some of their plans and their permutations. 

Eventually, they -- especially the troll -- will know that only he has the real key to purging the infection on the World Between Worlds. They will come to him, and all he has to do is needle them into the place where he needs to be.

As he said, long ago, on another battle station, everything is transpiring according to his design. And soon, his acolyte will get to see the World Between Worlds answer his deepest, darkest questions about how a galaxy can allow something supposedly evil like them to exist naturally. Caster recalls when Kotomine had repressed himself, when he had hated what he really was, before he came, before he discarded his previous "anchor," before he gave the young Adept _permission_ to be the monster that he truly was inside. He might even let him see the Bogan be reborn into flesh before he kills and dominates its power for his own. 

And then, power and everything will be his again. As it has always been. As it would always be. 

The Emperor grasps his hands around the Dagger of Mortis, over the pool as he cackles into the darkness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nice to end this on a positive note, I think. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me on this journey into a place that is long ago and far away, and where people will die when they are killed. What a rush. Perhaps there might be a bonus scene or two. We shall see if it is foreseen.


	9. I: Extra

This isn't the first time that Caster came back from death, and that was before this War that these ... Masters call a Ritual.

She has died a few times. At least once, if not twice, on her homeworld of Dathomir legitimately, and once on Zardossa Stix in a manner she ... really wanted to forget. But she doesn't intend to make this a habit. This time around, she will make the enemies of her people die instead, and get what she ultimately desires. 

These Force Adepts of this different time claim to know Rituals, Sith or otherwise in origin, but she has already shown them. She watches them through her crystal ball, the power of the ichor flowing through her veins, the very ancient power of the Nightsisters that allowed her to materialize her dreams and nightmares, that gave her the power to escape death so many times, as she sits in what used to be a Temple of the Kyber ... or the Whills. Not that it matters now. In some legends, Caster may have even dedicated this place and her slow corruption of its nexus with the green mist of her ichor, taken from her former homeworld, to the Winged Goddess. Or perhaps the Horned God as well, as his power does not seem all that far away ...

The Guardians of the Whills still remain, their life forces trapped in the ichor while their bodies continue to move and work under her command: dormant until she had need of them one way or another. It hadn't taken her long, after her supposed ... Master, a stupid male whose name she has already forgotten, used the powder of her shattered orb from her lost cult on Zardossa Stix as a catalyst in which to summon her, to think that his pathetic display of weather manipulation and paltry sentient sacrifice would impress or intimidate her. It hadn't taken much to charm that arrogant boy, and completely dominate him to her will. She took the override of the Ritual, built in her new body made flesh again, away from him before draining him of all his life essence -- _all_ of it, in all the amusing ways that mattered -- and then utilized the children and her consorts to bolster her as she used her magick to find the source of the Ritual, the place where the portal to the World Between Worlds used to reside on Lothal. 

It almost amazes her that this portal through space-time would have been in a _Jedi_ Temple of all places. They wouldn't even have known what to do with such a power, never mind fully comprehend it. Perhaps the ... Winged Goddess had hid it there as some kind of jape on the galaxy, along with the rest of her immortal family. So Caster made it a priority to secure the site, with its new, smaller Temple of the Kyber and utilize its ignorant Guardians as her minions and resources. She had immediately used the power of the nexus to power herself, but not before taking on a new ... anchor. She would never call him "Master," but he was hollow inside, and strong. In other words, he was a perfect male for her purposes: another tool for combat, to allow her to leave the premises of the nexus, and for ... other purposes. 

After that, it hadn't taken long to eliminate and ... repurpose another prospective Master ... and take his slot to summon her own Legendary Spirit. It was a pity that she couldn't summon another one of her Sisters, at least not yet. Still, it hadn't taken much to repurpose even Assassin. While his martial arts allowed him to alter his body chemistry and resist her ichor for a time, she had overridden his essence, and made him into a powerful Guardian in his right: another male that would guard the weak spot at the Temple that she couldn't completely suffuse with her curses and illusions. 

So Caster bides her time at her crystal as the Guardians act as makeshift Nightbrothers and lesser Sisters, as she frees up her own ichor to resurrect the dead in their graveyard to also serve as an underground army to call upon when the time arose. Instead, she watches the other ... Masters, and the Legendary Spirits at their command. 

The deluded boy and the idealistic girl at his side do not particularly threaten her. The Force Adept and her masked Archer likewise do not concern her, though perhaps the latter could be manipulated into serving her ends. The talentless boy and the girl with her lightsabers likewise also do not impress her ... though ... she can sense the faint bond between the Togruta and a quiet girl seemingly beaten into submission. A part of this angers her, as men should be the ones that are subservient, even if they dominate other men, to women of great power ... and that girl could become more than just the victims of men, if she could lure _her_ here ... 

And Rider ... she is a cipher, almost as much as Archer is when he pretends to be a Mandalorian. But she is a vessel for something else ... The Winged Goddess? Caster will have to look into that. 

She actually does hesitate when she finds Berserker. While his Master could be the Vessel for their organic restoration of the Gate, Berserker himself exudes massive darkness, perhaps ... even more than her sons, especially one of them, ever did. There is something poignant, and lost about him. If she can utilize him, this being that was nothing less than a Dark Lord of the Sith, she would need to be careful. He had tasted ascension already, even beyond the Dark Side, but if she could lure him somewhere else, to deal with others as she increased her own strength ...

It is when she sees Lancer that her plans almost change. This could be her chance. It infuriates her ... to see her Sister, her daughter in all but blood, reduced to a tool for another man, just like the Sith Lord that had taken advantage of her ages ago. Just like both of them.

For a few moments, Caster thinks she senses something ... _else_ , an amused, gloating presence ... But it's gone. She almost thinks she recognizes that feeling. That remembrance. It feels like a force that had taken everything away from her. Caster doesn't like this presence, if indeed it was. 

No. Caster plans to take Lancer back. She will get her. Lancer would make a fair greater addition to her small army than Assassin's reanimated form. She would make a better Assassin than Assassin.

And then, she will go forward, eliminate or convert the others under her dominion ... And if not, just drain as many life forces as possible to activate the portal to the World Between Worlds without the Legendary Spirits, and using the World Between Worlds she would destroy the man that took so much from her, obliterate the Sith and the Jedi, retroactively resurrect her Sisters from death -- all of them, even their Nightbrother thralls like her sons -- and rule this galaxy the way it should have been. 

Soon, the galaxy will know and fear the power of the Nightsisters once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually contemplated using her earlier as Caster, with ... a certain double-bladed lightsaber Lancer as her Assassin, but I decided to go with the Assassin and Caster pair I liked. This a darker, closer version to what Medea is like but in some ways far worse: as Kuzuki has little choice in the manner of how he is being used. 
> 
> And it's funny how so many elements introduced in Dave Filoni's Clone Wars and Rebels, while controversial and sometimes game-breaking, fit into this Fate/Star Wars fusion universe so well, even as the Fate element allows me to break canon and ... institute some Legends elements. 
> 
> Anyway, I just have two more other ideas, and then I think this will be a wrap.


	10. II: Extra

True Assassin is burning less now.

He recalls falling into the pit rather than face the ire of his Master over his failure. Perhaps he was even in Chaos, or the Nine Corellian Hells, or one of the many different infernal afterlife planes inscribed in myth and legend.

He does recall darkness, when his senses -- and sensibility -- slowly begin to return. 

And then, he bursts out of a carcass. Blood and gore from an entity long dead but held together by techniques of the Force becomes his new womb into the galaxy. He falls out, warped and twisted by the flames and the shadows. His flesh is still raw and burning, at first. All that is left in him, as his Master -- a withered old man reminiscent of ... another wreathed in dark power -- summons him from the remnants of a false Assassin is a willingness to serve ...

And sheer animal survival instinct.

He can feel the Shadow, the Dark Side, consuming the rest of the false Assassin. His Master manages to explain to him, through simple telepathy, that he can feed now too. That he can heal himself. He can survive. 

True Assassin is invisible. The Witch in the Temple and her anchor do not see him coming. A part of him remembers the techniques of her sisters. They are useless at close range and without focus ... or preparation. And at that moment, he is as unseen as anything can be. He sneaks behind the Witch, behind Caster, and stabs her through the neck. All her defenses and charms do not see him coming, though they should have. The way he was summoned, though he is ... _supposed_ to be here, makes him almost undetectable. A part of his mind, then, that still remembers anything recalls that he can mask his own presence: only now the Ritual that resurrected him has increased that trait, that technique, that power. Between his Master and his pet Shadow, they absorb the ... ichor from the fallen Caster even as her thralls all fall, both living and dead. He decapitates her former anchor, an empty man, with his twirling red lightsaber just in case. 

Afterwards, he simply continues to obey although ... he starts to recall more. 

His mind and flesh almost fully return when between his and the Shadow's onslaught, he tricks and consumes the life essence of Lancer. The woman screams as he devours her, her own darkness and sadness, filling him: making him stronger. He remembers. His Master now recognizes that he has higher cognitive functions again. He knows he is his new Master's Legendary Spirit, made from his Clan's adaptation of Sith alchemy, from the quasi-spiritual cocoon of a false Assassin, ironically a Guardian -- not unlike what he used to be before his dark enlightenment under the new Empire -- after the failure of his grandson as a Master himself. 

His Master wants the World Between Worlds to access the Wellspring of Life. The ancient Adept Master wants it to replenish his rotting essence, to drain the energies of the home plane of the midichlorians, and become virtually immortal. That suits True Assassin just fine. He recognizes, on an instinctual level, that the Shadow is another possible Vessel for the new portal to the World Between Worlds. 

And he sees the others. He targets their Masters. He is able to more easily read the techniques and motivations of other Spirits. He is able to question both Masters and Spirits and get the information for his battles and ambushes that he needs. But he does more than that. He feeds on life forces now, just as his new Master does, just as his old Master probably did. His flesh and body no longer burn, but his soul does. He sees his instructor, the one he fled life for the mercy of death for, and while his power is still great, Berserker doesn't scare him anymore. He knows he just has to eliminate his anchor, that little girl, and the man that tormented his life, that claimed dominance over him as the puppet of a greater Dark Lord, would crumple without his strings. But his new Master doesn't want the girl harmed. He apparently has a use for her. 

Now they are facing down a boy with a death wish ... and his idealistic little girl of a Spirit. He can feel the Shadow wanting them .. wanting her. His Master had used his dark power, an adaptation of the Sith, to reanimate Caster's form and use her ichor. Apparently, ichor and derivatives of Sith sorcery worked well together, perhaps even adapted to create the War Between Worlds and the organic structure that would resurrect the portal.

It doesn't matter now. Even in life, True Assassin had only examined other Force Adept, Jedi and a limited amount of Sith techniques: and those had been to support the effectiveness of his swordsmanship to the detriment of rival styles. All he needs is more energy to access ... another power. The Assassin class, based on the methodology of the Ritual, had many different applications that focused mainly on the elimination of Masters as Legendary Spirits' physical anchors. So when his Master gives him more energy, when they encounter the boy with a death wish and his idealistic Spirit of a girl again -- both of which the Shadow also wants -- he summons the others. 

The Inquisitorius. His Brothers. His Sisters. All of the Numbers. Now, as they face down Saber and her Master, True Assassin allows himself to think about what he will do when he gains access to the World Between Worlds ... When he uses his brethren that naturally hate him to accomplish this victory, when he gains the Wellspring himself to become more powerful than his Masters had once been ... 

Even as the leader of the Inquisitorius, he had always been meant to be a tool, to no longer have a name. But now True Assassin believes he will have a chance to be the only name that anyone will remember when he changes from an acolyte on the lowest level, to the truest dark Master of the galaxy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was definitely another Assassin possibility. 
> 
> So I decided to make a Heaven's Feel -- or a World's Ritual route here -- and have Zouken summon him from Assassin's remains, from the previous Caster possibility, as True Assassin. And I decided to have him bolster True Assassin's Concealment and gave him a Hundred Faced Hassan technique like the one in Fate/Zero with the entire Inquisitorius. What a karking mess, huh? 
> 
> Not a precise splicing, but amusing nonetheless. 
> 
> But now ... get ready, my friends, for another happy landing.


	11. III: Extra

Saber and Shirou run through the ruins of the Temple of the Kyber, accompanied by Rin and Sakura. 

For the first time, in this entire War, Saber was glad that he was stuck in his younger form. Even though he couldn't access the full extent of his powers, both from ascension and the years of his prime before Ahch-To, before he failed his nephew and Apprentice and his betrayal ... in one timeline, before his Temple was burned to the ground, worse than this one ... He can still run fast. There is still impatience, but also enthusiasm, a burning zeal for justice -- to solve this situation with as little bloodshed as could be done already ... And another word that he thought he lost long ago, and even after the horror of the Fourth War ...

Han. Leia. Chewie. Ben. Rey. Iri. Maiya. Even Kiritsugu. 

And Illya.

His resolve only strengthens. This is it. It is close now. The end of the Fifth War Between Worlds. 

The Last War. The end of this botched nightmare on the galaxy. 

He puts his hand on Shirou's shoulder, sensing the young man's worry ... a strange thought, as he only looks older than the other by a few years in his black uniform, and his green-bladed lightsaber ignited right in front of him. 

"Don't worry, Shirou." He tells him. "We will save your sister. I promise." 

"Yeah. We're going to stop this." Rin says, pointing a finger ahead of them. "I'm responsible, the Supervisor of this World for the Tower. I won't let it, or my citizens suffer. I won't let the galaxy burn."

"We'll save everyone, Saber." Shirou grunts, as Sakura squeezes his hand. "Even Rider." He looks at Sakura, his amber eyes trying to be reassuring. 

"I can ... feel her up ahead." Sakura whispers softly, looking away from them. "She's still here." 

"I can sense her as well." Saber adds, and then pauses ... sensing ... something else. _Oh no ..._ Immediately, he sprints up ahead. They call for him, but it isn't far. It isn't far at all. He remembers his aunt and uncle. So many of the Guardians are dead. He can tell they are not all here, that Caster ... that his Master, his old Master, had helped them flee with Assassin's aid before it had gotten to this point. 

He finds him on the floor. His Force signature is all but dimmed. The Fourth War's Caster ... Palpatine and ... and Berserker, his ... Saber can't think about that. They had found and attacked the Temple, on the site of the old Lothal Temple and the portal to the World Between Worlds. They are in the courtyard. He knows they are there. He bends down, and picks up his old Master in his arms. Caster ... Yoda, is burned. He can tell the ancient Jedi's body is broken beyond even the most potent Force healing. He tries, though. He pours what energy he can to at least dealing with the wheezing pain in the other's chest, in his lungs, his being. Their bodies are animated by Force alchemy, projected like Holocron images, but in no way does it take away even the illusion of feeling. 

"L-luminous beings are we, young Skywalker ..." Yoda coughs, sensing his thoughts, reminding him. "Not ..." He weakly squeezes his bicep. "Not this ... we are ..."

"I know, Master." He squeezes his eyes shut, tears flowing down his cheeks. He can't stand this. He can't stand to watch him die again. "I didn't know. I didn't know _he_ survived the last War. That he was incarnated _without an anchor_! I barely beat him, even after everything I learned ..." He turns his face away from the ancient Jedi, from his teacher, from his friend. "If only I'd ..."

"N-not your fault, this was, Luke ..." Yoda gasps. "Lost to him before, I had as well. Underestimated him, I did ... again. Killed ... poor Chirrut, he did. They ... _both_ did. Souchichirou as well. Join them, in the Force, I will soon."

He senses his young Master, his new friend, and the others arriving behind him. He remembers. "Ahsoka, is she ..."

Yoda's ears lower along with his eyes. "Alive, she is you sense. But Awakened something else is. The Dagger of Mortis, Palpatine has. Control Avenger ... The Son, he wants ... or kill him to take his power, he desires." He grabs his sleeve with one claw. "They must ... not ... go through the World Between Worlds ... Avenger's Well of the Dark Side cannot contaminate the Wellspring of Life ... Destroy ... the multiverse, they will ..."

Saber watches, helplessly, as Yoda's body been to dissolve. He realizes he had been holding himself here, at the lowest amount of power, just to see him one last time. "Luke ..." He whispers. "Luke ... the Key Stone, young Ahsoka has. Awakened, her passenger is. Beware ... Save ..."

And then, Yoda -- the Caster of the Fifth War Between Worlds, who tried to prevent so much horror -- becomes one with the Force once again. 

This time, he feels Shirou's hand on his shoulder. "Saber, I'm so sorry."

Saber sighs, getting to his feet. "Thank you, Shirou. But we do not have much more time." His eyes narrow on the steps leading to the middle of the Temple. "Let's finish this."

*

 _No Daughter ..._  Rider thinks to Morai, flying in the air, as she is pinned to the pulsing, fleshly tower in the Energy Cage, her lacerated body barely holding itself together. _Don't come out. Don't manifest._ _That's what they want. They still have the Dagger ..._

But just as the Son's corruption had once touched her, Daughter left her mark on her as well ... and unlike her time as a Padawan, Rider remembers all of it and what it entails. She watches as Palpatine and his acolyte Kotomine Kirei and ... and Berserker, poor Berserker face Illyasviel von Einzbern, pinned high above the living tower of horrific magma .. generating the liquid fire, channeling it through her altered body. It's started now. Leakage from the Well of the Dark Side. From Avenger. From ... the Son. Rider is barely holding on to consciousness. She recalls rushing here, away from Sakura. Assassin had been killed, poor Chirrut Imwe, who deserved so much better than being slaughtered by her maddened former Master. She came just in time to see the battle of wills between Palpatine and Master Yoda. 

Yoda had the life energies of the Force nexus to sustain him, and Kuzki, to keep him going. But Palpatine had killed hundreds, even thousands of sentient lives on this planet. He had been freed before from the Ritual by the Bogan. He was fueled by that darkness, tainting the sanctity of this land. She knows they had fought before in life, that Palpatine had sabotaged the flow of the Force, the battleground that was the galaxy against Yoda before. The saga of Jedi and Sith played out again, until Berserker ... Inclining his face to Illya, held in Kotomine Kirei's grasp, intervened. 

The former Jedi Grand Master fought valiantly against both of the other Legendary Spirits, but they overpowered him. They ... She tried to intervene, but while her energy from Sakura, which she tried to draw little from, and the nexus empowered, she was no match for her former Master ... 

She saw it. She saw him draw on his real power, for the first time in ages. He heard his voice, almost like that time back on Malachor, through his damaged vocoder. 

"Hero With No Fear."

Illya had writhed with red streaks through her alchemical body as Berserker's bulky dark armour fell off. It was as though he had never had those cumbersome prosthetics. As though Obi-Wan had never left him to die on Mustafar. A tall, young lanky man with hair of dark burning gold and blazing red and yellow eyes revealed himself, a parody of the man she looked up to, who trained her ... whom she loved. Hero With No Fear vastly increased Berserker's power, obliterating all of Yoda's defenses with a vicious focus she had never seen before. They were not the lightsaber strikes of an angry youth mad with power, but a powerhouse who knew exactly how to take an opponent down with ... what looked like unlimited power. 

It scared her. It still does. 

Now he stands there, his face downcast, but she can feel his self-hatred. _Don't Anakin._ She wants to tell him through an old training bond she can't feel anymore. _It's not your fault. This isn't you. Not anymore. Don't give into the hate. Don't ..._  

"You are exactly what you should have been, Lord Vader." Palpatine cackles, deliberating drawing out that abominable title with obvious relish. "I am glad I killed that pathetic Lancer ... that puppet Ventress after her ... little rebellion."

Rider winces. She can't help it. For all of her differences with Ventress, she had changed at the very end. She didn't want this to happen. If only she could have gotten to her sooner ... 

"I could have done it if you desired it, Master." Kotomine says, a sly smile flickering on his lips as he bows.

"Yes, of course. But I think of it as ... an appetizer of sorts." Rider sees Palpatine run a hand down her former Master's face possessively, making her skin crawl with revulsion. He turns to Kotomine. "We will be dealing with some meddlesome Adepts soon. Lord Vader and I will deal with their ... Saber." His smile somehow widens. "I will enjoy making that boy die a slow, painful death ... And this time." He holds up his hand, crackling with the override energies he had stolen from Berserker's Master. "You will obey me without question. Yes ..." Palpatine says, chortling to himself. "I will enjoy making you strike down your own son ... That way, Avenger will be able to enter you fully ... and then ..." He looks at the Dagger in his hands. "He will die too." 

"Surely, Master." Kotomine says, smiling in his shared glee at his ... Master's sadism. "We can have the Bogan enter the girl ... this tower. It will be material enough to affect with the Dagger either way."

"That is true, young Kotomine." Palpatine replies. "But I would prefer it ... him ... to have a humanoid form. One I am familiar with. One I can ... control either way." He looks consideringly at Berserker ... at Anakin frozen in place, left simmering in his rage. "Perhaps I will make him, the embodiment of the Force's darkness, my servant to rule the multiverse. At the very least, it will be easier to ... hurt him." He smiles at Kotomine. "And what are your plans, Kotomine?"

Kotomine is quiet for a few moments. "I will finally get to see myself ... something like me writ large in this galaxy form." He says, his tone distant. "I can see it be born. I will help protect it. The Force made it, made the Son for a reason, just as it had the other Ones. There is a reason for me, for someone or something like me to exist after all. For evil to live in this galaxy." He smiles, his twisted features almost matching Palpatine's. "As an added bonus, I will make Emiya Shirou watch me kill his friends, then tell him what will happen to his sister as I slowly dismember him. If that is how it ends for me, then I will be content."

Rider hates Palpatine's cackle. She hates all of this. "Good, I will not keep you, then. Teach your young friend the true nature of the Force. Make it his ... final lesson."

Kotomine bows, and takes his leave. This leaves her with her silent former Master, burning in his energies, and the black hole that is Palpatine.

"And you, my dear ..." Palpatine says. "I know you touched the icon on the Key Stone. Just as the Son didn't completely die, on Mortis, so didn't his sister. _Daughter_. I know she resurrected you, back then. Unlike those fool Makiri, I know that you are just her ... vessel. That she is the _true_ Rider, just as the Son is Avenger. She will manifest when her brother does ... as she had done, in some way, in the Third War." He turns away from her. "And I will dominate them both. That is the only reason you live, little girl. And then, I will have no further use for you." 

Rider struggles against the Energy Cage's bars. "You are a karking monster!" She shouts at him. "You won't get what you want. Saber ... will ..." She shakes her head, her montrals stinging against the energy bars. "Master ... Anakin, please. Don't do this. You can't fight your own son ..."

"Ah, but young Tano, he already had ..." He shakes his head. "You were always a mistake. A waste of my former Apprentice's time. Well, he will be better ... as a new Vessel for the Force ... After, of course, we kill his son."

Ahsoka Tano sees Anakin's fist clench. Overrides or not, power or not, she already knows that Palpatine is a fool. It's what will follow afterwards that worries her all the more. 

*

Saber and the others come to a hallway before the courtyard. The nexus is thrumming directly underneath them now. And they see the figure of the priest, of Kotomine Kirei standing before them with his lightsabers. 

He knows he could take the Priest of the Force, but then Palpatine would come here and slaughter Shirou and the girls. A part of him is worried. But he sees Shirou take out his lightsaber cylinder, the one he instructed him to make. He even found the kyber control for it. 

"Shirou." He tells the young man. "You were ... you are the most unconventional student I've ever taught." And it's true. Even more than young girl he had barely known in his exile. This ... young, traumatized boy with artificial limbs, who couldn't utilize telekinesis, whose mind was vulnerable to mental intrusion just as it was its strength in making him and others believe he could Project anything into existence, that he could affect the material plane and others had a will he had almost never seen before. Rin made snide remarks about Shirou being an _idiot_ savant, a specialist ... But Saber knows he wouldn't still exist if it hadn't been for Shirou and his collaborations with the girls, including Berserker's Master ... his father's friend. Together, they had replicated another legend, another myth. It had many names. A Healing Crystal of Fire. The Kyber Crystal of Pomojema. With Shirou's manifestation, and Rin's knowledge of Gems they forged a crystal that Saber imbibed, increasing his powers past Shirou's thin connection to the Force. He has even more power than he did with Kiritsugu as his anchor against Palpatine in the last War.

But it is more than that. Both he and his Master, he and his student have something else in common now. Palpatine is holding both Shirou's sister, and his own father hostage. "But you have learned well. I know you can beat him."

"Thank you ... Saber." Shirou says. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without you. Or the others."

"It's Luke." He says, suspecting this might be the last time in this plane that they meet. "And I mean it. You can take him, kiddo."

"I know." Shirou replies. "And you will win against that karking monster. Luke Skywalker, let's save the galaxy together."

Despite the circumstances, Luke smiles. "Thanks Shirou. The Force be with you."

"And with you, Luke."

At that point, Luke Skywalker leaps past the two Masters to deal with what lies in the courtyard. The end game.

*

Luke doesn't expect what happens next. Always in motion, the future is ... as Yoda once told him so long ago. He prepared to face Palpatine and ... the burning wraith of his father: young, and terrible, and angry ... 

But then he sees Berserker ... his father, turning and battering Palpatine's defenses. The Sith Lord barely has time to summon his own blade. Luke feels all those stolen, dark, life energies gathering around the Emperor ... before Darth Vader stabs his lightsaber right through his chest. Palpatine's mouth opens and shuts. Then, in a horrible way, he smiles. He smiles at Luke.

And as Palpatine explodes into twisting, blue-white flames ... dissolving Ahsoka's Energy Cage, making her fall to the ground. The Dagger of Mortis also falls on the ground as well. Luke is about to approach her before ... His father starts screaming. It is a long, shrieking below ... A wail of agony. 

Then he sees the dark shape forming out of the fleshly tower spreading over the Temple like a disease, a corrupted version of the Gate leading to the World Between Worlds ... The dark form, of Avenger, of the Son, of the Bogan ... crackling and barely stable speaks at the same time as Anakin's lips move. 

_**"Now, I will spread through the multiverse ..."** _

_"No."_ Another presence interjects. _"You will not."_

Ahsoka's eyes glow as she lies on the ground as a shape forms above her. She smiles, sadly, up at Luke.

"Take care of ... Skyguy for me ..." She whispers. "Tell ... Sakura to ... live ..." then she dissipates ... and an angry, burning ethereal figure hovers down. Light and Dark regard each other ...

And Luke knows that the threat to the multiverse, that this War has reached its most lethal point.

*

Daughter will not listen to Luke. It doesn't matter as Berserker hammers his lightsaber against Luke's, as she and the Son exchange and absorb each other's powers. The Dagger of Mortis lies on the ground, all but forgotten in the ensuing conflict. He hears Shirou and the others running towards them. He wants them to flee. This is ... this beyond all of them now. 

His father ... Even in their last duel, he had never been this powerful. On the Death Star, he had been a cybernetic shell of a man, of a shadow. Even in this War, he had been masked by dark energies and without his more advanced senses, Luke could barely sense him, though he knew there had been something when the dark warrior would hesitate before engaging him. It shouldn't be like this. They had been at peace. They had made peace with one another. 

Hero With No Fear, augmented by Dark Side Berserker Rage, honed by years of pain and suffering was something Luke can barely keep up with. His father moves fast, and vicious. His lightsaber blows are hammers of pure elemental power and rage. He recalls just a shadow of this from his end when he used it on the Death Star. He hears Shirou shout encouragement towards him. Rin as well. She had looked up to him like the lost Jedi her Clan had sought to reconstruct. And through Sakura's obvious sadness at Ahsoka's dissipation, he feels her resolve to end this. 

Luke focuses his power and materializes something into his hands. It is azure and bright. It staggers Anakin back. For a few moments, the yellow in his eyes fade as his face melts into shock. Luke hasn't used this in a long time. Not in the last War, and not even on Crait physically, though it had its intended affect on an archetypal and mythological level. 

The Force gathers into him, all of its aspects. He dances fluidly, gracefully, a whirlwind, dodging Anakin's blows -- all of them killing blows. He channels Soresu as well, and lets the other expend his energy against him, using Makashi to bend the blows away. The old blade shines more brightly. Anakin's movements are faltering. He is beginning to move like a much older man. And Luke ... Luke feels himself getting tired. Not unpleasantly. Just the exhaustion brought on by hard day's good work. He knows what this is now. 

This is the power of a New Hope. Of New Hope. 

In the distance, he senses Shirou, Rin, and Sakura taking Illya off of the tower growth. Anakin falls to one knee, barely keeping his lightsaber up, barely wanting to ... His sclera fades back into a light blue. It isn't a young man facing Luke anymore, amidst the destruction of the battle between Son and Daughter going on behind them. It's like the Death Star all over again. A sad, scarred, pale, tired old man looks up at him. 

"Father ..." Luke says, deactivating his blade and holding his father's rapidly dissolving form up.

"We ... we should stop meeting like this ... son ..." Anakin wheezes. 

"I know." 

"Spoken like your ... sister's troublesome smuggler." He coughs. "I ... forgot myself. I'm ... I'm sorry ..."

"Ani!"

A small figure pushes past Luke and to her Servant's side. "Illyasviel ..."

"It's Illya, you big dummy." The small Adept pounds his chest and Luke can see the tears in her eyes, as well as the wry grin on his father's.

"Just so ..."

"You ... you were pretty ..."

Anakin chortles. "I guess ... I was ..."

"Dummy, you were. But ... I like you better like this. I mean not like ..." She shakes her head, looking up at Luke. "You were too, onii-chan's Servant. Now you look old."

"It's ... true, my son."

Luke touches his face. The beard is back. He doesn't move as easy as he did, but there is a certainty, a sturdiness, a sternness in him he hadn't felt before. 

"Luke ..." Anakin says, trying to gesture at Son and Daughter. "I ... I failed at something a long time ago. I was ... I was too young. I had a life. Perhaps if I ... No. Illya, I loved being your Servant." He smiles at her. "But it's time for me to go ... Your brother will take care of you now. I know it."

"I ... I know." Illya bows her head. "Goodbye ... Ani. Go. _She's_ waiting for you."

Anakin smiles. "See you soon ... Luke ..."

*

Luke sees the Dagger on the ground. And, just like that, he knows what he has to do. He nods to Shirou, who nods back at him. Rin looks at them questioningly, as the four move back as the darkness reaches out and the portal begins to open.

Luke Skywalker, formerly Saber, reaches out and calls the Dagger to him. This gets the attention of Son and Daughter. Suddenly, their fighting stops. 

At this point, Luke has a vision. _He sees both Son and Daughter on their hands and knees, kneeling before a young Anakin Skywalker on Mortis ..._  

Luke considers this. _He sees Son stabbing Daughter with the Dagger as she jumps in front of their Father. And ... Father stabbing himself with it. He feels Son's pain. His sadness. His loneliness and regret. He sees his father stabbing Son through the chest with his own blade. The despair and imbalance lingers ..._

_A part of Daughter survives in a young girl she saved, in a bird that was her friend. But Son has no body anymore. He floats throughout the space between spaces, or the World Between Worlds. The Three hope for a young Jedi to use the portal to resurrect them, but he destroys it ... twice. From the time of the Wellspring of Life's creation, to that point in the Clone Wars on Mortis, the Force only becomes more chaotic ..._

Finally, Luke opens his eyes and makes his decision. 

He pockets the Dagger. Instead, he holds out both hands: not as a gesture of command like his father had done, but palms first.

"I'm not your Father." He tells them. "I failed in a lot of meaningful ways. As did my father, Anakin. As you know. But this ... this needs to stop. For the first time, I understand my place in this. You can't be physical, in this realm, anymore. And I can tell, you don't want to really destroy anyone. You don't want to destroy everything. You are just sad. And lonely. And too much time has passed." He shakes his greying head. "I've died already too. I did it to make a point. To help make a new galaxy without our mistakes. I'm not going to ask to replace your Father. No one can do that, no matter how powerful they are. Even if I were really the Chosen One."

He looks at them, both of them, in the eyes. "This portal has to close. We can do that. We can restore the balance and stop all of this. We can move on, and travel the Netherworld of the Force. Together. I know there are people that want to meet you. Leave this galaxy, this plane, to these kids. Maybe we'll find Father. Maybe we can live together. Maybe I can throw this karking Dagger out the nearest metaphysical airlock. I'm tired of chaos, aren't you?"

"I'm Luke Skywalker." He continues to hold out his hands, to both of them. "And if you'll let me, I think I'm here to rescue you." 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think this last part would be so long, if you can believe me.
> 
> So much went down. I didn't really go into so many details and I know I could have done better, but this feels like a very fitting end. This is the ... Saber, I remember. And I think he would have done it this way. 
> 
> Writing this was a tough challenge. And it would have been easier if I made it primarily Legends instead of new canon on the Star Wars side of things. Nevertheless, for story and world-building sakes some of it bled through ... 
> 
> Whatever the case, I'm glad that for those of you who were interested, that you all stuck around to see how this ended. And even though this was fiction, and fanfiction, it was true ... all of it. I'm just glad I put it out there, as I move back to other projects, fanfics and original works alike. As I move on. 
> 
> Take care. And may the Force be with you. Always.


End file.
